LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH: 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN"  AS  IT  IS. 


NARRATIVES,  SCENES,  AND  INCIDENTS 


REAL  "LIFE    OF  THE  LOWLY." 


BY    W.    L.    G.    SMITH 


BUFFALO : 

GE  0.    II.    D  E  R  H  Y    A  N  D    CO. 

1852. 


Eiuered  according  to  Aci  of  Coii-i'cbd,  in  ilie  year  ISC™',  ly 
VV.    L.    G.    SMITH, 

!u  the  Clerk's  Oiiice  of  ilie  Disinci  Court  of  iht  UiiiicJ  S,a!cs  for  th 
Norilicrii  Disuii'i  ol  New   York. 


iJLI  I  ALU,    .N.    V. 


«  io 


MfitA) 


STo  tt)e 
HENK  Y    CLAY, 

THE  ADVOCATE    OF  THE    AMERICAN    COLONIZATION    SOCIETY, 

AND 

FRIEND  OF  THE  CONSTITUTION  OF   HIS  COUNTRY 
IN  EVERY  KESPECT, 

THIS   BOOK   IS   DEDICATED   BY   THE   AUTHOR. 


PREFACE. 


THE  object  which  the  author  of  the  following  story  has  in 
view,  is  to  represent  the  relations  between  master  and  slave. 
To  do  this,  it  was  necessary  to  depict  the  passions  and  senti 
ments  as  the  same  are  usually  found  to  exist  in  the  every-day 
scenes  of  life. 

The  lot  of  the  latter  must  necessarily  be  humble,  as  soci 
ety  is  at  present  constituted;  whilst  that  of  the  former,  as  an 
inevitable  consequence,  seems  to  be  more  exalted. 

The  farmer  at  the  North  shares  the  toils  of  the  field  from 
necessity,  or  choice,  or  both;  the  planter  at  the  South  is  a 
husbandman,  it  is  true,  but  is  not  so  apt  to  participate  in  the 
toil  of  tillage  and  harvest. 

Every  nation,  and  many  parts  of  the  same  nation  —  espe 
cially  when  it  embraces  a  continent  like  that  of  the  United 
States  of  America,  with  diversified  soils  and  various  cli 
mates —  have  their  own  customs  and  modes  of  livelihood. 
The  people  are  born  and  educated  under  the  institutions 
peculiar  to  their  own  locality,  and  strange  would  it  be,  if 
they  did  not  become  attached  to  them,  and  ready  to  repel 
assaults,  come  from  whatever  quarter  they  may. 

Statesmen  and  philanthropists  —  who  look  to  the  perpe 
tuity  of  the  Union  of  the  several  States  which  compose  this 


VI  PREFACE. 

confederacy,  and  arc  unwilling  to  hazard  the  invaluable  bless 
ings  which  every  person  in  the  country,  whether  bond  or 
free,  daily  enjoys  under  it  —  have  always  considered  the 
question  of  Slavery  a  delicate  subject.  And  if  it  is  a  stain 
on  our  national  character,  as  is  frequently  alleged,  they  con 
sider  it  an  heir-loom  which  has  descended  with  the  immortal 
charter  of  independence,  and  that  the  curse,  if  any,  appro 
priately  belongs  to  the  Fathers  of  the  Republic. 

If  the  historian  has  given  us  a  true  record,  there  have 
been  "  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water  "  in  every  clime 
and  age  since  the  days  of  Adam.  Disinterested  philanthropy 
looks  to  the  amelioration  of  all  conditions,  and  the  enlighten- 

r^ 

ment  of  all  classes  of  society.  And  although  the  lot  of  the 
slave  may  be  regarded  as  the  lowest  in  the  scale,  still,  the 
candid-minded  in  every  section  of  our  country,  indulge  the 
hope,  that  the  day  will  yet  come  when  the  descendants  of 
Ham  will  be  gathered  together  in  the  land  of  their  ancestors, 
and  Liberia,  in  God's  own  good  time,  take  its  position  among 
the  independent  states  of  the  world, 

It  is  proper  to  observe,  that  some  of  the  embellishments 
which  illustrate  this  book  have  been  kindly  furnished  by 
Mr.  G.  P.  Putnam,  the  publisher  of  Mr.  Kennedy's  "  Swallow 
Barn." 

BUFFALO,  JULY  30th,  1852. 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH: 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS 


CHAPTEK    I. 

"  OLD  VIRGINIA." 

is  not  familiar  with  the  history  of  the  Old 
Dominion  f  "  remarked  a  portly-appearing  gentleman, 
seated  at  his  ease  in  the  portico  of  the  United  States 
Hotel,  at  Washington,  some  years  since.  "  And  where 
is  her  equal,  sir,  in  all  that's  good  and  chivalrous?" 
he  added,  with  the  view  of  engaging  the  attention  of 
a  member  of  Congress,  who  just  then  took  a  seat  by 
his  side. 

"  Ah,  Mr.  Erskine,"  replied  the  person  addressed, 
"  I  find  you  c  still  harping  on  my  daughter.'  Her  his 
tory  is  good  so  far  as  it  goes ;  but  it  does  not  go  far 
enough.  It  is  the  unwritten  pages  which  we  of  the 
]Srorth  take  exceptions  to." 

"  Beg  your  pardon,  Mr.  Pettibone,  but  if  you  will 
Callow  me,  sir,  I  say  not  one  of  her  sons  would  consent 
to  strike  out  one  iota  of  that  history.  We  are  proud, 


14  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OB 

sir,  of  our  lineage,  and  customs,  and  polity,  and  we 
would  record  it  —  all  of  it,  for  the  benefit  of  our 
descendants." 

"All!  yes,  Mr.  Erskine,  yes,  yes,  that's  all  very 
well.  But,  we  of  the  North  hear  of  many  scenes  and 
events,  daily  occurring  upon  your  plantations,  which 
disturb  our'sensibilities ;  and  as  we  have  good  author 
ity  for  believing  that  all  men  are  born  free  and  equal, 
we,  that  is  to  say,  myself  and  those  who  act  with  me, 
are  determined  to  take  the  matter  in  hand  ourselves, 
and  relieve  the  oppressed." 

"  That  is  to  say,  Mr.  Pettibone,  you  will  pass  by  the 
abuses  and  unhappiness  of  your  own  home  and  fire 
side,  and  interest  yourself  exclusively  with  those  of 
your  neighbor.  And  then  '•- 

"  No,  no ! "  interrupted  Mr.  Pettibone,  in  rather  a 
sharp  tone  of  voice,  evidently  nettled  at  this  oppor 
tune  intimation. 

"  And  then,"  continued  Mr.  Erskine,  who  was  deter 
mined  to  conclude  his  reply  before  Mr.  Pettibone,  who 
was  then  rising  from  his  seat,  passed  out  of  the 
portico,  "you  flatter  yourselves  with  an  impression 
that  you  are  ameliorating;  the  condition  of  the  down- 

«/ 

trodden,  and  call  this  service  philanthropy ! " 

Mr.  Pettibone  was,  all  of  a  sudden,  in  a  hurry  to 
get  up  to  the  capitol,  as  he  had  the  floor  that  day  in 
the  "House." 

Mr.  Erskine,  as  the  reader  perhaps  may  have  al 
ready  anticipated,  was  a  Virginia  "  gentleman  of  the 
old  school,"  of  refined  sentiments  and  manners,  and 
the  owner  of  a  large  landed  estate,  situate  in  the  county 


15 

of  Frederick,  west  of  the  Blue  Ridge  range  of  moun 
tains.  That  estate  had  been  his  home  for  more  than 
half  a  century,  and  came  into  his  possession  as  the 
legitimate  inheritance  from  his  ancestor.  Plentifully 
stocked  with  negroes  that  were  born  and  reared  there, 
the  plantation  was  "  well  worked,"  and  yielded,  from 
year  to  year,  an  abundant  harvest.  Notwithstanding 
he  was  thus  favored  with  the  riches  of  this  world,  and 
the  blessings  and  pleasures  consequent  thereon,  he 
did  not  occupy  a  singular  position,  nor  was  he  isolated 
from  his  fellow-citizens.  It  was  not  a  remarkable  nor 
uncommon  condition  in  that  latitude.  Whoever,  at 
the  time  of  which  we  write,  or  at  this  day,  should 
traverse  the  country  lying  between  the  Blue  Ridge 
and  the  Alleghany  mountains,  would  pass  over  many 
a  plantation,  as  fair  and  pleasant  as  that  of  Mr.  Er- 
skine,  and  as  well  supplied  with  an  abject  race  of 
humanity.  We  say  abject,  but  do  not  mean  worth 
less;  for  the  traveling  observer  would  find  the  race 
really  "  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water,"  such 
as  it  had  been  through  a  long  series  of  generations. 
And  if,  with  the  calm  and  unbiased  feelings  of  an 
enlightened  philanthropy,  the  traveler  should  stop  to 
inquire  into  the  reason  of  this  servitude,  and  with  his 
own  personal  observation  inspect  its  condition  and 
diversified  relations,  in  their  almost  endjess  variety 
and  multiplicity  of  detail,  he  probably  would  not  fail 
to  discover,  long  before  the  task  was  completed,  an 
unexpected  ligament  existing  between  master  and 
slave  —  one,  indeed,  most  difficult  to  sever,  even  if 

the  statutes  of  the  Commonwealth  were  annulled  — 

2* 


16  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH',    OR 

namely,  the  strong  cord  of  affection;  and  composed, 
if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  of  the  strands 
of  uniform  kindness  and  sincere  attachment  compactly 
and  firmly  twisted  together. 

The  manners  and  customs  of  the  inhabitants  of  this 
region  of  country,  to  which  we  have  referred,  may 
have  undergone  some  modification,  or  change,  in  the 
year  1839,  from  what  it  was  during  the  first  quarter 
of  the  present  century.  Some  of  their  descend 
ants,  at  intervals,  may  have  bidden  adieu  to  the 
land  of  their  nativity,  and  passing  into  other  states, 
there  taken  tip  their  abode :  some  settling  them 
selves  npon  plantations  beneath  a  more  southern 
sky  and  in  a  balmier  climate,  and  adding  to  their 
"  worldly  stock  of  goods "  by  a  steady  annual  in 
come  derived  from  their  luxuriant  fields  of  rice  and 
cotton ;  and  others,  peopling  the  marts  of  the  south 
and  southwest,  occupying  the  time  in  trade  and  traffic, 
or  embracing  the  "learned  professions,"  spending 
their  lives  in  expounding  the  law,  preaching  the  gos 
pel,  or  healing  "the  ills  which  flesh  is  heir  to."  In 
fact,  the  state  of  Virginia,  which  has  been  so  appro 
priately  styled  "  the  mother  of  presidents,"  has  also 
been  to  a  very  great  extent  the  mother  of  states. 
Many  a  son  of  hers  was  the  first  to  fire  the  rifle,  use 
the  axe  and  spade,  and  build  the  log  cabin,  in  all  that 
great  area  of  country  washed  by  the  waters  of  the 
Ohio  and  Mississippi  rivers,  and  their  countless  tribu 
taries.  Her  laws  and  institutions  have  made  their 
impress  upon  the  minds  of  lawgivers,  given  shape 
and  tone  to  legislation,  until,  under  their  benign 


17 

influence,  the  forest,  savanna,  and  prairie  have  been 
converted  into  towns,  hamlets,  and  cities,  and  occu 
pied  by  people  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  comforts  and 
pleasures,  elegancy  and  refinement  of  civilization. 

But  if  the  "  looker  on  in  Yienna  "  desires  to  take  a 
more  extended  observation,  and,  descending  from  the 
higher  or  middling  classes,  view  Southern  society  in 
its  humblest  form,  the  vision  should  not  be  strained 
through  the  magnifying  lenses  of  idle  rumor  and 
imaginative  story.  The  life  and  livelihood  of  the 
slave  should  be  seen  with  the  naked  eyesight,  and 
viewed  as  it  is ;  not  confining  the  observation  to  ex 
treme  cases  of  happiness  or  misery,  but  scanning  it 
"  as  a  whole,"  wherever  the  institution  of  slavery  is 
recognized  by  the  law  of  the  land.  And  then,  if  this 
impartial  examination  should  satisfy  the  mind  that 
the  natural  laws  of  humanity  had  been  violated ;  and 
the  gratification  of  that  sentiment  which  is  common 
to  all  mankind  —  the  love  and  pursuit  of  happiness  — 
not  allowed,  and  beyond  the  pale  of  hope,  the  philan 
thropist  might  murmur  with  propriety,  and  look  around 
for  the  remedy  —  some  potent  elixir  —  which  would 
remove  this  cancer  from  the  body  politic. 

As  it  is  not  our  desire,  so  we  do  not  deem  it  to  be 
our  duty,  to  grope  our  wray  through  the  labyrinthian 
mazes  of  a  speculative  philosophy,  and  endeavor  "  to 
catch  a  sight"  of  some  fanciful  object  of  philanthropy 
in  the  distempered  imaginings  of  an  excited  brain. 
The  true  moralist  is  content  to  view  nature  as  he,  finds 
it,  and  rehearse  to  the  listener  the  actual,  every-day 
scenes  of  life,  as  they  ordinarily  occur  in  their  various 


18  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    Oi£ 

phases.  And  the  story  which  is  recited  in  the  follow 
ing  pages  will  discover  to  the  reader  an  unvarnished 
narrative  of  what  has  occurred  more  than  once,  during 
the  last  dozen  years,  north  of  the  Potomac. 

To  return  from  our  digression  to  Mr.  Erskiiie.  lie 
had  now  (we  may  as  well  mention  the  time,  it  was  in 
the  winter  of  1839,)  for  the  first  time  in  many  years, 
visited  the  federal  metropolis.  lie  had  a  two-fold  pur 
pose  in  view,  for  making  the  visit  at  the  present  time. 
First,  for  pleasure  and  the  improvement  of  his  acquain 
tance;  and  secondly,  to  inform  himself  of  the  real  state 
of  the  slavery  question  before  the  country.  As  he  had 
observed,  in  reading  over  the  proceedings  of  Congress, 
that  the  subject  was  frequently  discussed  there,  and 
sometimes  with  great  warmth,  and  apparently  with 
the  belief  that  it  was  an  evil  and  a  curse,  he  was 
becoming  somewhat  alarmed,  for  he  did  not  know 
what  might  be  the  result  of  this  agitation  in  Virginia. 
~No  sooner  had  he  arrived  in  Washington  than  he 

O 

commenced  his  inquiries.  He  paid  his  respects  to  the 
President,  and  was  informed  by  that  high  functionary 
that  there  was  no  occasion  for  any  uneasiness;  that 
the  debates  in  the  "House"  were  a  mere  fanfaronade 
got  up  for  political  effect,  and  intended  for  a  different 
meridian.  And  being  further  informed  by  the  chief 
magistrate  of  the  republic,  that  a  large  majority  of  the 
freemen  of  the  Old  Do-minion  were  too  much  loved 
and  respected  by  the  party  in  power,  ever  to  allow 
them  to  be  disturbed  in  the  enjoyment  of  their  hered 
itary  rights ;  and  that  all  assaults  upon  their  political 
privileges,  come  from  whatsoever  quarter  they  might, 


19 

would  be  triumphantly  repelled,  the  fears  of  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine  were  allayed,  and  he  left  the  White  House  with 
hearty  thanks  for  the  intelligence  he  had  received, 
and  promenaded  Pennsylvania  Avenue  with  perfect 
composure. 

It  was  the  following  morning,  that  the  colloquy 
occurred  between  him  and  Mr.  Pettibone,  as  above 
detailed.  As  the  latter-named  personage  remarked, 
when  he  left  the  portico,  that  he  had  the  floor  that  day 
in  the  House,  Mr.  Erskine  at  once  determined  to  go 
up  to  the  capitol  himself,  and  remain  a  quiet  spectator 
of  that  day's  sitting.  He  stopped  for  a  moment  in  the 
corridor  leading  from  the  rotunda  to  the  galleries  of 
the  House,  and  not  observing  the  member  from  the 
Frederick  District,  he  presently  wound  his  way  up  the 
marble  stairs,  and  reaching  the  door  of  the  gentle 
men's  gallery,  he  took  his  diagram  and  examined  it 
attentively,  for  the  purpose  of  finding  Mr.  Pettibone's 
seat,  so  as  to  locate  himself  in  full  view  of  the  orator. 
His  desire  was  very  easily  gratified,  for  all  the  benches 
were  unoccupied.  The  speaker  had  not  as  yet  called 
the  House  to  order,  and  but  few  members  were  at  their 
desks.  Mr.  Erskine  amused  himself  in  glancing  at 
the  beautiful  architecture,  and  admiring  the  elegance 
and  grandeur  of  the  hall.  In  a  few  moments,  the 
honorable  members  began  to  come  in,  and  among 
them  Mr.  Pettibone.  Busy  in  conversation,  and  giv 
ing  the  usual  salutation  to  each  other,  the  echo  of  their 
voices  created  such  a  buzz  as  to  make  the  sensation 
quite  painful  to  the  ears  of  Mr.  Erskine.  The  Speak 
er's  mallet,  however,  soon  brought  order  out  of  chaos, 


20  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OK 

and  the  clerk  was  reading  the  journal  of  the  previous 
day,  with  such  impetuous  rapidity  that  its  contents 
were  imperfectly  understood  by  the  stranger.  The 
eyes  of  Mr.  Erskine  fell  upon  the  orator  of  the  day, 
who  was  seated  at  his  desk,  perusing  a  newspaper, 
with  as  much  nonchalance  as  if  he  had  been  lountnns; 

cT>         O 

in  the  reading-room  of  an  hotel.  Such  lack  of  urban 
ity,  and  such  inappropriate  demeanor — at  least  in  the 
estimation  of  Mr.  Erskine  —  so  shocked  his  sense  of 
propriety,  and  was  such  gross  and  almost  unpardon 
able  infringement  of  the  most  common  code  of  polite 
ness,  that  he  was  almost  inclined  to  leave  the  gallery, 
or  to  treat  the  expected  speech  with  disdain,  and  not 
pay  it  the  respect  of  attentive  listening.  But,  upon 
casting  his  eyes  around  the  House,  he  observed  many 
of  the  members  occupying  the  time  in  the  same  way, 
or  else  opening  their  little  mail  bags,  and  untying 
and  unfolding,  and  casting  a  mere  glance  at,  or  read 
ing  at  length,  letters  and  papers — parcel  after  parcel — • 
so  much  so,  that  he  concluded  such  behavior  was 
provided  for  "by  the  rules,"  and  that  perhaps  an 
opposite  line  of  conduct  would  there  be  deemed  an 
anomaly,  if  not  an  eccentricity.  Xever  having  had 
the  honor  of  a  scat  in  a  legislative  assembly,  and 
ignorant  of  all  parliamentary  conduct  save  that  con 
tained  in  Jefferson's  Manual,  the  surprise  of  Mr. 
Erskine  on  this  occasion  ought  not  to  be  wondered  at 
by  those  who  are  familiar  with  Congressional  deport 
ment.  Be  this  as  it  may,  Mr.  Erskine  remained 
patiently  in  his  position,  and  in  due  time  the  Speaker 
announced  the  "special  order."  It  turned  out  to  be 


UNCLE  TOM's  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  21 

the  question  whether  a  petition,  praying  for  the  pas- 
*sage  of  an  act  abolishing  the  traffic  of  slavery  in  the 
District  of  Columbia,  should  be  respectfully  received 
or  thrown  under  the  table.  Mr.  Pettibone  being  enti 
tled  to  the  floor,  rose  in  his  place,  and  proceeded  to 
give  his  views  in  the  affirmative.  Mr.  Erskine,  from 
the  fame  of  the  orator, —  at  least  in  the  frequent  men 
tion  of  his  name  in  the  newspapers-— expected  to  see 
a  crowded  auditory  ;  but  perceiving  nearly  all  the 
benches  unoccupied,  he  was  surprised  at  its  thinness. 
And  then  again  was  he  surprised,  that  Mr.  Pettibone's 
arguments  or  eloquence  failed  to  enchain  the  attention 
of  his  fellow-members ;  and,  instead  of  an  attractive, 
appeared  to  possess,  so  far  as  he  could  discover,  a 
repelling  influence.  For  one  seat  after  another  was 
gradually  becoming  vacant,  until,  if  a  count  had  been 
taken,  scarcely  a  quorum  was  in  attendance;  and  not 
even  that,  if  the  sergeant-at-arms  had  omitted  the 
stragglers  in  the  lobby.  Nevertheless,  however  in 
auspicious  such  circumstances  might  be  of  a  good, 
sensible,  or  brilliant  speech,  Mr.  Erskine's  desire  to 
hear  the  sentiments  verbatim  et  literatim  of  this 
renowned  opponent  of  the  "domestic  institution," 
remained  unabated,  and  so  he  resolved  to  "  sit  it  out." 
Mr.  Pettibone  proceeded  to  deliver  his  views  at  ran 
dom,  as  it  seemed  to  Mr.  Erskine ;  for  he  had  an  ass's 
load  of  pamphlets  and  periodicals  at  his  elbow,  which 
he  referred  to  and  read  from  in  rotation;  some  of  them 
giving  an  account  of  the  adventures  and  hair-breadth 
escapes  of  the  friends  of  the  colored  man,  and  others 
containing  graphical  descriptions  of  slavery  and  its 


22  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OB 

evil  tendencies.  But  like  the  race-horse,  which  on  the 
last  quarter  quickens  his  speed  for  the  winning  post, 
Mr.  Pettibone,  as  he  approached  the  termination  of  his 
speech,  became  more  and  more  rapid  in  his  elocution, 
and  more  frequent  in  his  gesticulation.  These  move 
ments  were  communicated  by  the  pages  in  attendance 
to  the  honorable  gentlemen  outside,  who  now  began  to 
flock  into  the  "Hall,"  with  the  same  alacrity  that  the 
horse-courser  and  jockey  repair  to  the  judges"  stand  on 
the  race-ground.  The  pointer  of  the  clock,  which  was 
placed  directly  over  the  main  entrance,  and  in  full  view 
of  the  speaker,  soon  designated  the  hour  specified  for 
the  committee  to  rise,  and  the  rap  of  the  mallet  brought 
up  Mr.  Pettibone  "all  standing.''  He  was  not  quite 
through,  and  asked  for  further  time.  But  the  "party 
in  power"  did  not  fancy  the  topic  under  debate.  His 
request  was  not  acceded  to,  and  he  very  reluctantly  re 
sumed  his  seat.  Mr.  Erskine  regarded  the  speech  as  a 
mere  harangue,  and  he  would  have  left  the  gallery 
much  disappointed,  were  it  nut  fur  the  suggestions  of 
the  President,  which  prepared  his  mind  in  advance  for 
something  of  the  sort  he  had  heard.  Although  meant 
for  an  attack  on  Southern  rights,  he  believed  it  would 
be  perfectly  harmless,  and  his  feelings  were  becoming 
more  and  more  gratified,  that  he  had  taken  the  trouble 
to  visit  Washington.  A  man  of  candor  himself,  lie 
thought  Mr.  Pettibone  the  same.  And  as  he  conjec 
tured  that  Mr.  Pettibone  took  the  course  he  was  pur 
suing,  on  the  subject  of  slavery,  from  erroneous  senti 
ments  founded  upon  false  statements,  he  made  up  his 
mind  to  avail  himself  of  the  first  opportunity  he  might 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  23 

have,  to  set  Mr.  Pettibone  right.  Especially,  as  he 
again  and  again,  on  that  day,  had  reiterated  that  he 
relied,  "for  the  rectitude  of  his  conduct,"  upon  the 
facts,  as  he  was  pleased  to  term  them,  which  he  recited 
at  length  to  the  audience,  Mr.  Erskine  thought  he 
should  perform  an  act  of  kindness  to  him,  and  at  the 
same  time,  in  a  quiet  and  gentlemanly  way,  vindicate 
himself  and  neighbors  from  the  false  and  ungenerous 
imputations  which  it  was  becoming  fashionable  in 
certain  quarters  constantly  to  cast  upon  them.  And 
believing  that  Mr.  Pettibone  was  actuated  solely  by 
the  impulses  of  genuine  philanthropy,  he  did  not.  an 
ticipate  much  difficulty  in  undeceiving  him.  Mr. 
Erskine  accordingly  retired  from  the  gallery  in  a 
happy  mood,  and  returned  to  his  hotel. 

Some  few  days  afterward,  Mr.  Erskine  met  Mr. 
Pettibone  at  a  private  dinner-party  given  by  the  mem 
ber  from  Frederick.  Mr.  Pettibone  was  fond  of  hilar 
ity  and  a  good  joke,  and  so  was  Mr.  Erskine,  and 
they  were  passing  together  a  very  jovial  hour.  As 
they  were  becoming  merry  enough  to  throw  off  the 
restraint  or  coldness  which  on  other  occasions  prob 
ably  would,  characterize  their  conduct  toward  one 
another,  Mr.  Erskine  improved  the  opportunity  to 
rally  his  companion  upon  the  slavery  topic,  with  the 
view  of  testing  his  sincerity. 

"  I  never  had  the  honor  of  listening  to  a  speech  in 
Congress  until  I  heard  you,"  said  he,  "  and  I  listened 
with  attention." 

Mr.  Pettibone's  vanity  was  his  great  weakness,  and 


24:  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

he  received  Mr.  Erskine's  remark  as  a  compliment, 
and  replied  accordingly. 

"From  what  passed  between  us  that  morning  at  the 
hotel,  I  expected  to  hear  some  of  the  unwritten  history 
of  my  state,"  added  Mr.  Erskine,  dryly,  "but  1  per 
ceived  that  you  occasionally  read  from  —  may  I  ask 
from  what?" 

"Yes,  sir,  certainly,"  replied  Mr.  Pettibone,  shov 
ing  back  his  chair  from  the  table  sufficiently  to  enable 
him  to  turn  it  aslant  toward  Mr.  Erskine,  "  why  cer 
tainly,  sir,"  he  continued,  beginning  to  think  that  he 
had  made  an  impression  on  the  mind  of  Mr.  Erskine, 
"  the  facts  wThich  I  narrated  in  my  speech  I  obtained 
from  the  'Emancipator,'  and  the  documents  from 
which  I  read  to  the  House,  are  pamphlets  compiled 
with  much  particularity  " 

"I  noticed  the  particularity"  interrupted  Mr. 
Erskine. 

"  And  with  great  care  and  accuracy,  by  compilers 
at  the  [North  who  have  traveled  through  many  parts 
of  the  Southern  country." 

"And  it  is  upon  such  data  that  you  form  your 
opinions  of  us  slaveholders  ? " 

"  Oh !  sir,  those  are  only  a  small  sample  of  the  in 
numerable  wrongs  inflicted  upon  our  colored  brethren. 
The  half,  sir,  has  not  been  told." 

"It  would  really  be  quite  gratifying  to  me,"  very 
pleasantly  remarked  Mr.  Erskine,  "  to  know  where,  in 
all  the  South,  such  scenes  occur  — 

"  They  are  common  to  all  'parts  of  slavcdom;  I  hear 
of  no  exceptions." 


25 

"  And,  Mr.  Pettibone,  the  circumstances  —  the  cir 
cumstances,  sir,  under  which  they  occur.  For  I  can 
readily  imagine  that  isolated  instances  may  occur. 
The  lash  with  us  may  supply  the  place  of  the  felon's 
cell  with  you ;  and  the  colored  man  of  the  South,  I 
presume,  labors  in  the  field  and  shop,  just  like  the 
white  man  at  the  North." 

"  With  this  marked  difference,"  quickly  responded 
Mr.  Pettibone,  under  the  belief  that  he  had  his  adver 
sary  on  the  hip,  "  the  white  man  labors  according  to 
his  own  will,  and  is  master  of  his  own  wages." 

"  Yes,  ah !  yes,  Mr.  Pettibone ;  and  if  I  am  not 
wrongly  posted  up,  you  also  have  your  poor  houses  for 
the  idlers  and  superannuated,  and  your  jails  for  your 
spendthrifts  and  insolvents." 

Mr.  Pettibone  felt  his  inability  to  sustain  himself  in 
this  tete  a  tete,  unless  he  took  higher  ground. 

"  You  will  understand  us,  Mr.  Erskine,  to  take  the 
position  we  do,  not  because  we  desire  to  carp  at 
your  manners  and  customs,  but  because  we  think 
your  institution  incompatible  writh  our  religious  no 
tions  and  sensations,  and  uncongenial  with  true 
republican  liberty." 

"  And  therefore  you  do  not  hesitate  to  set  at  naught 
that  sacred  ark  of  our  liberty — the  Constitution — 
which  tolerates  all  religions ;  and  are  in  too  much 
haste  to  await  the  gradual  emancipation  of  the  slaves 
in  the  order  of  time  allotted  by  Providence." 

"  You  are  facetious,  Mr.  Erskine  ;  trifling,  sir.  Per 
haps  you  have  not  been  over  on  the  island,"  said  Mr. 


26  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

Pettibone,  evidently  annoyed  by  the  replies  of  the 
planter. 

"  Ah  !  what  have  you  there?  " 

"What  is  called,  in  common  parlance,  a  slave 
pen." 

"  A  slave  pen !  and  pray,  what  use  is  made  of 
that?" 

"Oh!  a  sort  of  sty,  to  shut  up  the  blacks  in  —  a 
place  to  jockey  in  fur  human  flesh,  sir!  "  said  Mr. 
Pettibone,  with  considerable  vehemence. 

"Ah,  yes!  a  slave-mart,"  replied  Mr.  Erskine,  with 
great  composure. 

"Common  —  common,  I  presume,  sir,  with  you  in 
the  South  ;  for  I  perceive  it  occasions  you  no  surprise." 

"  ~Not  at  all ;  not  at  all.  It  is  the  first  I  have  vis 
ited.  We  do  not  have  such  in  Old  Virginia.  If  we 
part  with  one  of  our  blacks,  it  is  at  our  own  door; 
and  that  's  done  hardly  once  in  an  age." 

"  Great  evil ;  all  wrong,  Mr.  Erskine.  It  's  a  curse 
to  the  country — a  libel  on  free  America." 

"It  is  very  easy  so  to  say.  But,  Mr.  Pettibone, 
if  slavedom  was  converted  into  freedom,  what 's  to 
become  of  the  poor  creatures  ?  You  could  not  Jiire 
them,  I  '11  be  bound,  to  go  away;  and  if  they  stayed, 
would  not  know  how  to  live." 

"  Such  might  be  the  case  with  the  present  grown 
generation.  But  the  younger,  and  their  future  de 
scendants,  would  be  educated,  and  would  learn  how 
to  live.  We  look  forward  to  the  future." 

"  And,  Mr.  Pettibone,  do  you  really  think  that 
they  would  be  happier?  " 


UNCLE  TOM9S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  27 

"Yes,  both  now  and  hereafter;  they  would  be, 
then,  moral  beings  —  accountable  beings  ;  not  only  the 
semblance,  but  the  substance  of  humanity." 

"  As  for  their  present  state,  they  could  not  be  hap 
pier;  and  so  far  as  the  future  is  concerned,  I  leave 
that  to  the  theologians.  The  argument  that  they  are 
not  now  accountable  beings  proves  too  much  for  you, 
I  suspect.  As  to  their  welfare  in  the  world  to  come, 
they  may  be  classed  with  'the  little  children7  spoken 
of  in  the  Testament,  for  anffht  I  know." 

O 

"No  body  that  holds  a  human  soul  can  be  happy 
in  chains,  be  it  black  or  white,  either  in  a  heathen  or 
Christian  land." 

"There  it  is  —  you  now  meet  the  point,  Mr.  Pet- 
tibone.  I  have  been  fearful  that  such  sentiments  ob 
tained  in  the  Free  States.  The  mistake  is  unfortunate." 

"Oh!  no  mistake  —  no  mistake,  sir,"  rejoined  Mr. 
Pettibone,  with  a  smile  on  his  countenance. 

"  But,  I  affirm  it  is  a  mistake,"  said  Mr.  Erskine, 
with  more  earnestness  of  manner;  "  and,"  he  continued, 
"  it  would  delight  me  to  convince  you,  by  a  personal 
observation  of  that  society,  of  which  you  now  get  your 
notions  at  second  hand.  Come,  go  with  me  into  the 
interior  of  Old  "Virginny,  and  view  the  life  of  the 
lowly,  as  it  is." 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Erskine,  thank  you.  My  duties 
at  the  capitol  are  too  pressing  to  allow  me  that  pleas 
ure.  It 's  the  short  session,  you  are  aware,  and  we  are 
already  into  February." 

"  It  would  be  impolite  to  urge  you.  Your  company, 
however,  would  give  me  infinite  gratification,  sir." 


28  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Erskine,  thank  you." 

"  The  spring  with  you  is  not  half  so  delightful  as  it 
is  with  us.  Say  after  the  adjournment  —  any  time 
you  may  please  to  name,  and  I  shall  be  happy  to 
entertain  you." 

"  Really,  Mr.  Erskine,  you  are  very  kind.  I  should 
enjoy  Virginia  hospitality,  I  know ;  besides,  I  have 
never  passed  an  hour  upon  a  plantation." 

"  So  I  supposed.  I  venture  to  predict  new  views  to 
you." 

"  Perhaps,  more  practical.  May  I  ask  when  you 
leave  Washington  ? " 

"  To-morrow." 

"  I  will  retain  your  invitation,  and  write  you  in  a 
few  days,  if  agreeable." 

"  Do,  and  I  hope  that  you  will  find  it  convenient  to 
make  the  visit." 

Mr.  Pettibone  bowed  very  amiably,  and  having  an 
engagement  to  fulfill  that  evening,  excused  himself 
from  the  dinner-board,  and  withdrew.  Mr.  Erskine 
remained  to  participate  in  the  further  entertainment 
of  his  representative,  and  reached  his  apartment  at 
the  hotel  at  a  late  hour. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  29 


CHAPTER  II. 


"  The  river  nobly  foams  and  flows, 

The  charm  of  this  enchanted  ground, 
And  all  its  thousand  turns  disclose 

Some  fresher  beauty  varying  round  ; 
The  haughtiest  breast  its  wish  might  bound 

Through  life  to  -dwell  -delighted  here  ; 
Nor  could  on  earth  a  spot  be  found 
To  nature  and  to  me  so  dear," 

* 

A  few  miles  from  the  town  of  Millwood,  in  the 
county  of  Frederick  and  state  of  Virginia,  was  situated 
the  plantation  of  Mr.  Ersldne.  Viewed  in  all  aspects, 
it  was  as  fine  a  plantation  as  the  sun  ever  shone  upon. 
Its  proprietor  was  born  and  bred  there.  It,  in  the 
year  1839,  had  been  his  home,  and  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  his  world,  for  more  than  sixty  years.  The 
lovely  waters  of  the  Shenandoah  meandered  in  grace 
ful  curves  through  the  valley ;  and  the  banks  of  the 
river  were  studded,  at  intervals,  with  the  beautiful, 
wide-spreading,  and  lofty  trees  of  the  forest,  some  of 
which  had  stood  there  beyond  the  recollection  of  the 
eldest  inhabitant.  The  high  hills  and  bluff  mountains, 
with  their  crags  and  precipices,  called  the  Blue  Ridge, 


30  LIFE  AT  THE   SOUTH;   OR 

skirted  the  eastern  horizon,  and  far  away  to  the  west 
could  be  discerned,  in  the  dim  distance,  the  swelling- 
peaks  and  towering  summits  of  the  Alleghanies. 

The   domain  of  Mr.  Erskine   extended   along   the 
river  for  nearly  a  mile ;  and  not  far  from  the  center, 
upon  a  slight  acclivity  near  its  Lank,  had  stood  for 
many  years  the  family  mansion.     It  lay,  as  it  were, 
embowered  amid  "  some  oaks  and  elms,"  whose  upper 
most  limbs  seemed  to  repose  upon  the  roof.     A  lawn, 
lined  on  each  side  with  a  row  of  high  poplars,  reached 
from  the  piazza  to  the  public  road,  tastefully  graveled  ; 
and  a  garden  lay  upon  the  left,  with  its   beds  and 
walks,  the  work  of  years.     The   river  made  a   large 
bend  here ;  and,  if  traced  upon  paper,  it  would  have 
the  resemblance  of  a  semicircle.     The  mansion  was 
so  located,  that  a  view  of  the  river  could  be  obtained 
from    either  extremity  of  the  main  hall,  which  was 
opened  into,  fioth  front  and  rear,  by  doors  of  similar 
size.     There  was  nothing  peculiar  in  its  architecture 
from   many  others  upon   the  wayside ;    commodious, 
and  partitioned    into  suitable  rooms,   and   furnished 
with    simple  but   elegant  furniture,   it  presented   an 
inviting  appearance,  and  was  worthy  of  its  occupant. 
The  plantation  was  worked  by  slaves,  reared  there, 
and  who  formed    "part    and  parcel"  of  the    estate. 
Corn  and  tobacco  were  the  staple  articles  of  produc 
tion.     The  land  was  easy  to  till,  and  yielded  an  abund 
ant  harvest.     The  outbuildings,  fences,  and  implements 
of  industry— the  pastures,  meadows,  and  other  enclos 
ures,  wore  the  appearance  of  thrift;  and  above  all,  the 
long  range,  or,  more  accurately  speaking,  hamlet  of 


31 

small  white  buildings,  which  occupied  a  long  knoll  of 
ground  at  the  distance  of,  say  some  two  hundred  rods 
from  the  mansion,  appeared  to  be  the  abode  of  con 
tentment  and  quiet  happiness.  The  traveler  would 
pause  to  view  the  prospect,  and  as  he  passed  along 
the  highway,  gaze  with  lingering  admiration.  In  the 
woods,  there  was  plenty  of  game,  whilst  the  river,  and 
the  numerous  creeks  which  flowed  into  it  from  the 
neighboring  hills,  furnished  an  unfailing  supply  of 
trout  and  pickerel ;  and  frequent  and  great  was  the 
fun  and  merriment  enjoyed  there  by  both  "bond 
and  free." 

Mr.  Erskine's  slaves  were  commensurate  in  number 
to  the  extent  of  his  possessions ;  and  like  others,  of 
similar  condition,  he  entrusted  the  direction  of  the 
"  heavy  work  "  to  an  overseer.  The  reader  must  not 
suppose  that  all  toiled  in  the  field.  Their  duties  and 
ordinary  routine  of  labor,  were  as  various  and  inde 
pendent  as  those  of  citizens  of  some  northern  village. 
Some  labored  in  the  tillage  of  the  land,  and  others 
were  mere  servants ;  but  all  acknowledged  a  common 
master. 

The  winter  of  the  year  to  which  we  have  referred, 
was  uncommonly  rigorous  for  this  latitude.  Snow,  to 
the  depth  of  several  inches,  covered  the  earth  as  late 
even  as  the  first  days  in  March ;  and  the  overseer  was 
"  behind  in  getting  in  the  spring  crops."  He,  there 
fore,  hurried  the  work  on  the  plantation,  and  urged  the 
slaves  to  toil  the  harder.  It  was  high  time  that  the 
corn-fields,  in  particular,  should  be  put  into  proper 
condition,  and  the  seed  planted.  Mr.  Erskine  was 


32  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

absent,  at  Washington,  when  the  overseer  commenced 
in  earnest  the  spring  work.  The  slaves  had  a  desire, 
if  not  some  sort  of  pride,  to  get  the  seed  into  the 
ground;  for  they  even  had  an  indistinct,  but,  as  it 
x  seemed,  not  a  very  forcible  impression,  that  unless  the 
/  seed  was  planted  -  -  there  would  be  no  yield ;  and 
they,  by  no  means,  fancied  the  idea  of  short  coia- 
mons.  And  yet,  they  did  not  appreciate  the  import 
ance  of  such  great  haste  as  the  overseer  manifested. 
If,  by  constant  urging,  their  exertions  were  quickened 
in  the  least,  they  would  shortly  relapse  into  their  usual 
slow,  jog-trot  manner  of  work ;  between  which  and 
absolute  laziness  — as  the  latter  term  is  commonly  un 
derstood —  there  was  not  a  very  wide  margin.  The 
overseer,  however,  had  calculated  the  time  when  he 
would  have  the  work  completed,  and  to  guard  against 
a  failure,  he  concluded  that  he  would  not  rely  simply 
on  the  virtues  of  corporal  punishment,  but  would  also 
try  moral  persuasion.  As  the  love  of  gain  is  one  of 
the  most  prominent  incentives  to  exertion,  Lie  promised 
the  slaves  an  increase  of  their  weekly  stipend.  To 
several  of  them,  this  lure  was  sufficiently  attractive  to 
produce  the  effect  desired  ;  whilst,  in  others,  it  created 
no  sensation,  unless  it  might  be  that  of  levity.  Most 
of  them,  however,  went  to  the  field  on  the  morning  of 
the  next  day,  with  an  apparent  determination  to  do 
their  best. 

The  field  where  they  went  to  work  lay  along  the 
river,  and  contained  some  fifty  acres  of  land.  The 
soil  wTas  of  a  darkish  color,  easy  to  turn  and  shift  with 
the  hoe,  being  a  mixture  of  sand  and  gravel  which  had 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  33 

gradually  accumulated  there,  from  the  overflows  of  the 
Shenandoah.  The  negroes  took  hold  of  it,  as  if  they 
meant  to  do  something.  It  was  amusing  to  see  them 
strive  to  get  ahead,  and  catch  up  with  each  other. 
Some  dropped  the  seeds,  and  others  covered  them 
with  the  earth.  Old  and  young,  men  and  boys,  were 
busy. 

"  Take  care,  Hector,  cover  not  too  deep,  or  we  shall 
never  hear  from  them  kernels,"  said  the  overseer  to  a 
broad-shouldered,  strapping  negro,  who  was  taking  the 
lead,  and  plying  the  hoe  with  uncommon  rapidity. 

"  list !  massa,  I  'm,  I  'in  into  him  dis  time.  I  takes 
all  dem  niggers  down,  dis  time,  massa,  hst !  Out  of 
de  way,  Jack,  hst !  Lor',  how  I  make  de  dust  rise." 
replied  the  slave,  very  good-humoredly,  and  progress 
ing  more  rapidly  than  before. 

"  Wha'  dat  you  say,  nigger  2  "  shouted  —  another 
slave,  who  was  tall  and  spindle-shanked,  with  gray 
hairs  occasionally  showing  themselves  on  the  top  of 
his  head  —  sufficiently  so  to  make  his  appearance 
rather  interesting ;  and  who  was  evidently  an  heir 
loom  to  the  estate,  and  known  on  the  plantation  as 
Uncle  Torn.  "Wha'  dat  you  say?  beat  dis  nigger, 
will  you !  I 's  I ;  try  dat  on,  nigger.  Be  hasty  wid 
dat  corn,  Joe,  drop  him  squar  in  de  hole !  Dis  old 
nigger  is  arter  dat  young  'un,  dar.  Hst !  out  of  de 
way  wid  you!"  said  he,  and  threw  his  whole  soul 
into  the  work. 

The  overseer  was  delighted,  and  congratulated  him 
self  that  he  had  hit  upon  the  right  expedient  to  make 
the  negroes  work  according  to  his  desire.  Hector  and 


34  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

Uncle  Tom  crowded  eacli  other  Lard,  and  the  contest, 
as  they  were  Hearing  the  opposite  side  of  the  field, 
seemed  to  be  neck  and  neck,  to  use  the  sportsman's 
phrase.  The  length  of  the  rows  of  hills,  in  which  the 
corn  was  planted,  was  nearly  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
in  distance.  It  was  a  long  reach  to  make  without 
stopping ;  but  Hector  and  Uncle  Tom  were  on  a  race. 
Uncle  Tom  had  hitherto  been  the  foremost  and  most 
sturdy  of  the  clan,  on  that  or  the  adjoining  planta 
tions ;  and  when  he  made  an  effort  in  downright  earn 
estness,  usually  had  been  victorious,  no  matter  what 
it  was.  Long  before  they  reached  the  other  side  of 
the  field,  they  parted  company  with  their  fellow  corn- 
planters,  who  one  by  one  dropped  behind  ;  and  when 
they  were  "on  the  last  quarter,"  the  contest  was  so 
exciting  that  the  laggers  stopped,  leaned  on  their  hoes, 
and  took  a  look. 

"  Gosh,  Jeff,  look  you  dar  !  " 

"  Da's  it !     I  see,  Ciesar." 

"Ivi,  Jeff!  enty  ol'  Uncle  Tom  down  dis  time;  ha, 
ha!  gosh!  Zip,  wha' you.  guine  to  do  now?  Dar 's 
no  use." 

"Yas.  Da's  it;  Hector  is  out.  Lor'!  is  n't  dat 
ole  fellar  busted  now ! "  said  Jeff,  and  laughed  as  if 
he  would  split  his  throat. 

"What  are  you  standing  there  for,  you  lazy  clod- 
poles!  Handle  them  hoes,  and  make  yourselves 
busy,  or  you  will  never  get  to  the  end  of  your  rows," 
said  the  overseer  to  the  negroes,  vexed  at  their 
stupidity. 

"Sa,  massa! ;'  exclaimed  Caesar,  with  an  expression 


35 

of  amazement  in  his  countenance,  that  the  overseer 
did  not  appreciate  the  spectacle. 

"  I  say,  use  them  hoes,  and  not  stand  there  looking 
all  day,  doing  nothing,"  reiterated  the  overseer. 

"  Yas,  massa,  yas,"  replied  the  negroes  together, 
complying  with  the  order,  and  showing  the  white  of 
their  eyes,  as  they  cast  an  occasional  glance  to  the 
other  side  of  the  Held. 

"  And,  Jim,  let  me  see  the  kernels  come  out  of  the 
corn-bag  last,"  added  the  overseer,  to  a  little  urchin 
who  was  dropping  the  seed  for  these  planters  to 
cover  up. 

"  Hold  up,  you  little  cur !  not  so  many,  not  so 
many  in  a  hill ;  why,  if  you  are  not  careful,  the 
seed  will  not  hold  out,  and  then  we  shall  be  in  a 
nice  box." 

Jim  was  huffy,  because  he  could  not  stop  and  see 
the  race  longer ;  and  it  was  all  the  same  to  him, 
whether  he  dropped  the  designated  number  of  kernels, 
or  threw  a  handl'ull  into  the  pit,  as  he  called  it. 
Caesar,  Jeff,  and  the  rest  of  them,  were  also  huffy, 
and  from  the  same  cause ;  and  it  did  not  grieve  them 
in  the  least,  to  see  the  waste  of  the  seed,  but  they 
chuckled  over  it. 

"  Gosh !  Jeff,  massa's  com  will  be  short,  long  'fore 
night,  if  he  drop  um  in  dis  way." 

"  Ki !  Ca3sar,  dar  's  no  use  to  talk  about  it ;  let  'em 
cum  ;  we  cover  up  jeest  as  fast.  When  it 's  all  gone, 
we  '11  go  down  to  de  river  and  fish  all  arternoon ; 
da's  it." 

'  dat  ?     Wha' !    you   'spose   massa  guine   to 


36  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

turn  us  off  dis  time  o'  day.  Gosh!  Jeff,  don't  make 
a  fool  ob  yourself." 

The  overseer  had  stepped  ahend  a  short  distance, 
and  halted  until  the  planters  come  up  with  him. 

"There,  Jim,  careful  —  careful  in  the  number.  Be 
scarce  with  it  —  scarce,  Jim,"  said  the  overseer. 

"  Sa,  massa,  sa  !  "  answered  the  cunning  little  seeds 
man,  who  at  once  halted,  pretending  that  he  did  not 
understand  the  overseer's  remark. 

"  Keep  at  your  work,  you  black  dolt !  what  do  yon 
stop  for  ?  " 

"Sa,  massa!"  exclaimed  Jim,  with  more  apparent 
bewilderment  than  ever, 

"Sa,  massa!  I  '11  sa  you,  if  you  don't  keep  that 
corn  dropping  out  of  the  pouch.  At  your  work,  or 
Jeff  and  all  the  rest  of  them  will  soon  stop,  and  take 
another  look" 

"Yas,  massa,"  said  Jim,  and  he  resumed  his  task. 

"I  say,  be  scarce  with  the  seeds!"  reiterated  the 
overseer,  losing,  in  some  measure,  his  equanimity  of 
temper. 

"  Yas,  massa." 

"  Or  corncake  will  be  scarce  in  these  parts  next 
season,  I  '11  warrant  ye." 

"Dunno,  massa,"  drawled  Jim,  and  the  overseer 
again  walked  ahead. 

"Dat  young  nigger  no  fool;  he's  up  with  massa, 
eber  time,"  remarked  Jeff,  chuckling  over  this  idea. 

In  a  few  moments  they  approached  Hector  and 
Uncle  Tom,  on  the  way  back,  working  with  all  their 
might.  The  overseer  was  delighted,  and  eyed  them 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  37 

attentively.  As  the  sportsman  would  say,  Uncle  Tom 
had  bottom  and  girth,  and  when  these  rival  planters 
commenced  their  return  from  the  opposite  side  of  the 
field,  Hector  had  the  start;  but  Uncle  Tom  was  now 
gaining  rapidly ;  and  his  long,  sinewy  arms,  with 
scarcely  a  pound  of  flesh  thereon,  enabled  him  to  han 
dle  the  hoe  with  wonderful  dexterity.  Hector  began 
to  flag,  and  evidently  felt  that  his  antagonist  was  an 
overmatch  for  him.  He,  however,  looked  neither  to 
the  right  nor  left,  but  settled  himself  into  the  work 
with  all  the  physical  power  at  his  command.  Their 
seedsmen,  Jack  and  Joe,  had  no  time  to  loiter;  neither 
did  they  appear  to  have  any  inclination  to  do  so.  For 
each  took  as  much  interest  in  the  success  of  his  planter 
as  the  rider  does  in  the  speed  of  his  nag  on  the  race 
course.  As  they  came  abreast  of  Csesar  and  Jeff,  the 
eyes  of  all  the  negroes  were  upon  them.  Both  were 
determined  not  to  be  outdone  by  the  other — especially 
at  that  point,  in  full  view  of  the  spectators- — arid  each 
worked  the  harder.  Hector  held  his  own;  and  as 
they  passed  on,  Uncle  Tom  was  still  behind. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  the  overseer,  "  you  have  had 
your  look  again ;  now  use  your  own  hoes,  and  let 
Hector  and  Uncle  Tom  fight  it  out." 

"Sa!  massa." 

"  I  say,  plant  away  yourselves,  and  Jet  Hector  and 
[Jncle  Tom  fight  it  out." 

"Yas,  massa." 

"Dat  's  it  — dat's  it!"  said  Jeff  to  Caesar. 

"  Gosh !  de  ole  fence  will  fotch  'urn,  I  be  boun'," 
eaid  Csesar  to  Jeff;  and  they  began  leisurely  to  use 


38  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

the  hoes.  The  progress  of  this  squad  was  anything 
but  fast.  They  worked  as  if  they  meant  to  make  sure 
work,  and  not  botch  it ;  that  is  to  say,  if  the  time  con 
sumed  is  to  be  taken  as  evidence  of  their  intention. 
It  is  just  to  say,  however,  that  they  finally  reached  the 
end  of  the  TOW.  and  commenced  "working  back." 

'  O 

And  in  this  manner  did  they  toil  on  the  remainder  of 
the  day. 

"  Dar!  "  shouted  Hector,  as  he  covered  the  last  hill 
in  his  row;  "dar,  ole  nigger,  I  'spects  you  gib  aim 
up  !  "  throwing  his  hoe  upon  his  left  shoulder  with  an 
air  of  triumph. 

"Wha's  dat?"  muttered  Uncle  Toin,  almost  ex 
hausted  with  his  labor. 

"  I  'spects  you  're  satisfactory.  I  too  big  hoss  for 
Uncle  Tom  ;  I  take  de  wictory." 

"  Dunno,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  in  a  growling  tone  of 
voice,  ashamed  to  acknowledge  the  triumph,  and 
vexed  that  he  was  beaten. 

"  Wha'!  Dunno  ?  Try  'um  again,  den.  I'm  off 
like  a  four  year  ole.  Dar,  ole  hoe  !  "  removing  it  from 
his  shoulder,  and  throwing  it  upon  the  ground  ;  "  wha'! 
you  do  n't  cotch  'um  up,  Uncle  Tom  !  I's  do  'urn.  So, 
ole  hoe,"  taking  it  up,  "  we  go  togedder,  for  good  or 
worser,"  spitting  on  his  hands,  and  humming  to  him 
self  some  favorite  ditty. 

Uncle  Tom  showed  no  particular  haste  to  renew  the 
work  on  another  row ;  and  his  hoe  did  not  move  over 
the  ground  as  fast  as  usual.  In  fact,  so  tardy  were 
his  movements,  tnat  it  was  not  long  before  Caesar 
and  Jeff  came  up  with  him.  This  gave  him  additional 


39 

annoyance,  and  he  was  very  restive  under  their  jokes 
and  gibes.  He  purposely  fell  behind  ;  for,  of  all 
things,  he  disliked  to  be  a  butt  for  ridicule  and  merri 
ment.  Cowed  by  his  defeat,  he  did  not  feel  any 
inclination,  with  his  drooping  spirits,  to  be  sportive. 
Long  before  midday,  he  was  not  much  better  than  an 
idler.  The  overseer,  of  course,  noticed  this  unusual 
conduct,  and  gave  him  a  jog.  This  did  not  have  the 
desired  effect.  The  overseer  reminded  him  of  his 
duty,  and  urged  him  to  work  with  greater  zeal.  The 
overseer  attributed  his  disinclination  to  labor  more 
efficientlh,  to  some  chagrin  which  the  defeat  might 
have  created ;  and  he  was  disposed,  at  first,  to  humor 
the  slave,  and  let  him  have  his  own  way.  But,  when 
the  negroes  came  into  the  field  after  dinner,  he  thought 
that  Uncle  Tom  should  amend  his  conduct,  and  per 
form  his  part  of  the  labor.  And  when  he  found  that 
the  slave  was  indisposed  to  take  hold  of  the  work,  he 
reproved  him,  again  and  again,  and  as  often  received 
surly  answers  in  reply.  In  spite  of  all  his  efforts,  it 
was  with  much  difficulty  that  the  overseer  could  keep 
him  up  with  the  most  lazy  of  the  scpiad ;  and,  instead 
of  dealing  gently,  as  he  studiously  did,  in  consequence 
of  the  former  good  services  of  the  slave,  he  used 
harsher  language,  and  a  more  authoritative  tone  of 
voice.  What  influence,  or  what  motives  controlled 
or  actuated  Uncle  Tom  at  this  juncture,  we  will  not 
undertake  to  state ;  but  certain  was  it,  that  the  more 
he  was  urged  to  work,  the  more  dilatory  he  became ; 
and  the  more  he  was  threatened  with  punishment,  the 

greater  doggedness  he  exhibited.     Until,  finally,  the 

"  2* 


40  LTFK   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

overseer  informed  him,  thai  unless  lie  worked  with 
more  of  a  will  to  do  his  part  of  the  planting,  he 
should  report  him  for  punishment  to  his  master,  as 
soon  as  he  returned  to  the  mansoin.  The  overseer 
felt  that  he  should  be  justified  in  plying  the  lash  on 
the  spot,  but  he  preferred,  as  it  was  Uncle  Tom  who 
was  refractory,  to  consult  his  owner;  and  indulging 
the  hope  that,  in  the  meantime,  the  slave  would  get 
rid  of  his  laziness  and  surliness.  Joe  was  directed 
to  work  with  the  other  negroes,  and  Uncle  Tom  was 
left  in  the  rear,  to  drop  his  own  corn  and  cover  it  up, 
as  slowly  as  his  will  or  disposition  might  suggest. 
He,  however,  continued,  day  after  day,  in  the  same 
mood,  and,  as  the  overseer  thought,  instead  of  growing 
better,  was  becoming  worse.  Hector,  in  consequence, 
worked  earlier  and  later,  and  more  vigorously  than 
ever.  lie  expected  that  his  master  would  give  him 
the  position  which  Uncle  Tom  had  theretofore  occupied 
among  the  slaves  on  the  plantation,  and  he  evinced  as 
much  desire  as  the  overseer,  to  finish  the  planting 
before  his  master  returned  home. 


CHAPTER  III. 

SOBRIETY    AND     MERRIMENT. 

"  De  banjo  hung  in  de  kitchen  wall, 
De  gals  got  fraid  de  banjo  fall  — 
I  took  it  down,  and  'gin  to  play, 

We  kick  up  de  debbil  on  a  holiday." 

OLD  SONG. 

Mr.  Erskine  remained  in  Washington  longer  than 
he  intended  on  the  day  of  the  dinner-party,  and  did 
not  reach  his  home  until  the  last  of  March.  Mr.  Petti- 
bone  found  it  inconvenient  to  accept  of  his  invitation, 
and  he  arrived  at  the  plantation  accompanied  only  by 
his  favorite  servant,  Pompey.  He  was  agreeably  dis 
appointed,  to  hear  from  the  overseer  that  the  corn  was 
planted ;  and,  delighted  with  the  journey,  and  the 
entertainments  which  he  received  at  the  capitol,  he  felt 
happy  himself,  and  wished  others  to  feel  likewise.  He 
passed  the  first  few  days  after  his  return,  in  rehearsing 
to  his  family  the  various  scenes  which  he  witnessed ; 
and  so  full  was  his  mind  with  the  many  interesting 
incidents  which  occurred,  that  he  scarcely  thought  of 
anything  else.  They  constituted  the  topic  of  conversa 
tion  at  the  breakfast-table,  dinner-table,  tea-table,  and, 
for  the  most  part,  during  the  intervals  of  these  several 


42  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUT1I  ;    Oii 

periods  of  the  day,  until  Pompey,  who  witnessed  a 
portion,  could  recite  them  as  minutely  and  accurately 
as  his  master. 

After  the  lapse  of  a  week,  Mr.  Erskine  walked  over 
the  plantation.  Its  condition  was  perfectly  satisfactory; 
and,  pleased  with  the  attention  which  the  overseer  had 
evidently  bestowed  upon  it,  during  his  absence,  he 
thanked  him  again  and  again,  fur  his  care  and  assidu 
ity.  As  the  master  met  the  slaves  in  the  fields,  he  said 
many  a  kind  word  to  them,  and  complimented  them 
upon  their  labor.  Pleased  with  his  condescension  and 
affability,  they  respected,  if  not  loved  him  more  than 
ever;  and,  after  he  walked  on,  chatted  his  praise  to  each 
other.  Having  informed  himself  of  the  state  of  the 

C> 

fcC  crops,"  he  told  the  overseer  that  he  would  not  detain 
him  longer  from  his  customary  duties  ;  and,  followed 
by  Pompey,  Mr.  Erskine  took  the  lane  which  leads  to 
the  cabins. 

The  cabins  were  the  quarters  of  the  slaves,  and  Mr. 
Erskine  had  taken  great  pains  to  make  them  comfort 
able.  They  were  not  remarkable  for  cleanliness,  and 
yet  there  was  an  air  of  tidiness  and  gentility  prevailing 
within  —  much  more  than  might  be  expected  by  a 
stranger.  The  occupants  belonged  to  the  humblest 
class  of  society,  but  born  and  brought  up  there,  its 
sorrows  and  pleasures,  labors  and  amusements,  became 
a  part  of  their  education,  and  they  would  have  felt 
and  appeared  unnatural  in  a  more  elevated  position. 
They  were  accustomed  to  this  mode  of  life,  and  with 
their  wants  supplied,  took  no  thought  for  the  morrow, 
and  were  contented  and  happy. 


43 

The  negresses  were  glad  to  see  tlieir  master :  and  as 
he  took  out  of  the  carpetbag,  which  Pompey  lugged 
upon  his  back,  some  suitable  present,  their  eyes  spar 
kled  with  delight ;  and,  as  they  crowded  around  him  to 
receive  the  gifts,  the  little  tenements  resounded  with 
their  thanks  and  merry  laughter.  lie*  passed  in  and 
out  of  the  cabins,  one  after  the  other,  complimenting 
the  big  blacks,  and  patting  the  little  ones.  It  so  hap 
pened  that  the  last  cabin  he  went  into  was  the  one 
occupied  by  Uncle  Tom  and  that  good  old  negress, 
Dinah.  It  stood  out  in  a  little  bolder  relief  than  the 
others,  and  had  a  wider  veranda  in  front,  and,  in  fact, 
more  attention  seemed  to  have  been  paid  to  this  end 
of  the  quarters.  To  his  surprise,  Mr.  Erskine  found 
Uncle  Tom  lying  upon  the  mat.  He  was  surprised, 
for  he  had  not  heard  that  this  slave  was  sick,  and  he 
was  never  known  to  be  absent  from  the  field  when 
there  was  labor  to  be  performed,  if  in  health.  And 
also,  from  some  cause  not  apparent,  Mr.  Erskine  no 
ticed  an  unusual  reserve  in  his  demeanor.  He,  how 
ever,  passed  it  over  without  comment,  and  taking  from 
the  boy  a  rich-colored  piece  of  calico,  gave  it  to  Dinah, 
and  bid  them  good  morning.  He  repaired  to  the 
mansion,  arid  whilst  reflecting  upon  what  occurred 
between  himself  and  Mr.  Pettibone,  the  suspicion 
flashed  across  his  mind,  that  perhaps  Poinpey,  who  at 
times  was  wonderfully  loquacious,  had  given  Uncle 
Tom  some  crude  notions  of  freedom.  The  thought 
made  him  uneasy;  and  the  scene  at  the  cabin,  which, 
at  another  time,  probably  would  have  created  no  sen 
sation,  was  in  his  mind  all  the  afternoon.  He  sent 


44  LIFE   AT    THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

Pompey  to  the  overseer,  to  say  that  he  wished  to  see 
him  immediately  after  supper. 

Shortly  after  dusk,  the  overseer  called  at  the  man 
sion,  and  Mr.  Erskine  communicated  to  him  his  fears 
about  Uncle  Tom.  The  overseer  informed  him  of  the 
occurrence  in  the  cornfield,  and  its  effect  upon  the 
slave.  He  also  told  him  of  Uncle  Tom's  continued 
aversion  to  labor;  that  lie  had  not  been  of  much  use  in 
the  spring  work ;  and  of  his  dislike  to  inflict  punish 
ment  himself  upon  the  slave,  or  to  report  him  to  the 
mansion,  by  reason  of  age  and  previous  good  services. 
Mr.  Erskine  excused  the  overseer,  and  said  that  he  was 
reluctant  to  ply  the  lash,  so  long  as  there  existed  any 
reason  for  supposing  that  the  slave  was  in  ill  health, 
The  overseer  was  of  the  opinion  that  it  was  feigned  ; 
for,  as  he  said,  Dinah  told  him  that  Uncle  Tom  eat  as 
heartily  as  ever,  and  slept  as  soundly.  To  make  sure, 
the  overseer  was  directed  to  send  to  Millwood  for  a 
physician,  and  if  it  turned  out  that  the  disease  was 
laziness,  to  apply  the  proper  antidote  at  once. 

"  And  if  it  is  spunk,"  added  the  overseer,  as  he  rose 
to  execute  these  commands,  "  shall  I  drive  that  out 
of  him?" 

"  Without  delay,  sir,  and  let  me  hear  no  more  of  it," 
answered  the  master,  believing  that  in  such  an  event 
forbearance  would  cease  to  be  a  virtue. 

After  the  overseer  left  the  mansion,  Mr.  Erskine  still 
continued  to  think  of  Uncle  Tom  ;  and  the  more  he 
thought  of  him,  the  more  suspicious  he  became  of  his 
disposition  and  intention ;  and  then,  if  these  suspicions 
should  be  realized,  he  was  fearful  that  Uncle  Tom's 


CABIN"  AS  IT  IS.  4-5 

disease  would  be  contagious.  "  I  Lave  provided  well 
for  these  creatures,"  lie  mused  to  himself,  u  cared  for 
them  as  bountifully  as  my  means  admit,  and  think 
almost  as  much  of  them  as  if  they  were  my  own 
bone  and  sinew.  If  I  should  free  them  and  send 
them  adrift,  they  would  be  at  a  loss  what  to  do.  It 
would  be  downright  cruelty.  Pshaw,  leave !  I  doubt 
whether  they  could  be  hired  to  do  so.  I  will  try  on 
one  of  them.  I  will  take  Hector,  as  I  can  conjure  up 
a  plausible  excuse ;  and  if  he  stands  fire,  his  example 
will  have  a  good  effect  at  the  quarters,  and  prevent 
Uncle  Tom  from  doing  mischief,  if  he  should  attempt 
it."  And  he  called  Pompey,  and  directed  him  to  go 
to  the  overseer  and  say  that  his  master  would  be  at  the 
quarters  at  seven  o'clock  the  next  morning. 

Mr.  Erskine  was  punctual  to  his  engagement,  hav 
ing  hurried  his  breakfast,  and  taking  a  seat  under  the 
veranda  in  front  of  Uncle  Tom's  cabin,  he  directed 
the  overseer  to  call  Hector  there.  This  proceeding 
was  so  unusual  for  the  master,  that  the  attention  of 
the  negroes  and  negresses,  old  and  young,  was  excited, 
and  all  huddled  around  the  veranda,  on  tiptoe  to  see 
and  hear.  Hector  came  forward  reluctantly.  He  was 
not  conscious  of  having  done  any,  wrong,  unless  by 
beating  Uncle  Tom  in  the  cornfield,  he  had  thrown  him 
into  sickness,  and  therefore  the  overseer  had  cast  the 
blame  of  Uncle  Tom's  subsequent  conduct  upon  his 
shoulders;  and  this  he  thought  would  be  unmerciful. 

O 

"  Hector,"  said  his  master,  as  he  approached  him 
under  the  veranda,  "give  me  Philisee.  Henceforward 
I  shall  take  care  of  her  myself." 


46  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    Oli 

"Sa!  massa,"  exclaimed  the  negro,  with  an  air  of 
almost  terrific  amazement  in  his  countenance. 

"Yes,  Hector,  yon  are  now  free!  I  give  yon  your 
freedom,  old  fellow.  Here  is  money,  too,  and  in  Win 
chester  yon  shall  have  a  house,  such  as  white  folks  use, 
to  live  in  for  yourself." 

"  Xo,  massa,  I  can't,  sir — I  can't  be  free,"  replied 
the  negro,  shaking  his  head,  and  looking  around  for 
Philisee. 

'•Here  I  is! "  she  cried  out,  the  tears  trickling  down 
her  face. 

"Why  can't  you,  Hector  ?  What  do  yon  mean? 
Am  I  not  your  master?  Can't  I  make  you  free,  and 
do  n't  I  tell  you  that  I  do  make  you  free  \  I  see  how 
it  is  !  You  do  n't  like  to  part  with  Philisee  ;  well, 
take  her  with  you.  Prom  this  moment  you  are  your 
own  master,  and  she  is  her  own  mistress." 

"Wha3  for,  massa?  Wha'  Hector  done,  you  guine 
turn  nin  off  now?  " 

"Done!  You  have  served  me  faithfully  ever;  you 
saved  my  life,  old  fellow,  at  the  flood,  a  year  ago,  like 
a  friend,  and  I  am  now  your  friend,  and  not  any  longer 
your  master." 

"  Ivi,  massa !  enty  yon  always  been  a  frien'  to  Hec 
tor?  Enty  you  gib  um  physic  when  he  sick,  and 
come  and  see  and  talk  wid  um,  and  do  ebbery  ting 
he  want  you  for  do?  What  more  you  guine  to  do 
now?" 

"  Yes,  Hector,  I  have  done  for  you  all  this  ;  but  I 
have  done  it  because  you  were  my  slave,  and  because 
I  was  bound  to  do  it." 


47 

"Ah!  you  no  want  to  be  boun'  any  longer;  da's  it! 
1  see.  You  want  poor  Hector  for  eat  acorn  wid  de 
hog,  and  take  de  swamp  wid  de  'possum,  enty?" 

"  IS~ot  so,  old  fellow !  but  I  can  not  call  you  my  slave 
when  I  would  call  you  my  friend.  I  shall  get  another 
slave  in  your  place,  and  you  shall  be  free." 

u  I  clam  to  hell,  massa,  if  I  guine  to  be  free ! "  roared 
the  adhesive  black,  in  a  tone  of  unrestrainable  determin 
ation.  "I  can't  loss  you'  company  ;  and  who  work  for 
you  like  Hector?  'T  is  impossible,  massa,  and  dere  's 
no  use  to  talk  about  it.  De  ting  ain'jfc  right ;  and  enty 
I  know  wha'  kind  of  tins;  freedom  is  wid  black  man  ? 

O 

Ha !  you  make  Hector  free,  'conie  wuss  more  nor  poor 
buckrah ;  he  tief  out  of  de  shop  —  he  get  drunk  and  lie 
in  de  ditch ;  den,  if  sick  come,  he  roll,  he  toss  in  de 
wet  grass  of  cle  stable;  you  come  in  de  morning  — 
Hector  dead!  and  who  know  —  he  take  no  physic,  he 
hab  no  parson — who  know,  I  say,  massa,  but  de  deb- 
bil  find  um  'fore  any  body  else?  !N"o,  massa,  you 
berry  good  company  for  Hector;  I  tank  God  he  so 
good  !  I  no  want  any  better." 

The  negro  was  positive,  and  his  master,  deeply  af 
fected  with  this  evidence  of  his  attachment,  remarked 
to  the  overseer  that  Hector  might  still  remain  his 
slave,  and  walked  away  toward  the  mansion. 

"  Gosh  !  Jeff,  dat  beats  my  eyes  all  out  o'my  head." 

"I  always  knowed  massa  sich  man,  Caesar  —  good 
man.  Lor'  how  he  shid  tears !  I  neber  saw'd  massa 
cry  'fore." 

"  Look  dar,  Jeff,  how  he  uses  his  'kerchief!  I  gibs 
urn  up.  I  tank  de  Lor'  for  sich  inassa.  I  sticks  close 


48  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

to  dis  spot,  if  I  'd  been  Hector."  These  and  similar 
remarks  were  made  by  the  slaves,  as  they  dispersed  to 
their  respective  labors. 

Mr.  Erskine  was  satisfied  with  his  strong  hold  upon 
the  affection  of  the  blacks,  and  his  mind  was  once 
more  contented.  In  a  day  or  two,  he  had  another  in 
terview  with  the  overseer,  in  relation  to  Uncle  Tom, 
and  as  he  evinced  no  symptoms  of  reform,  and  it  was 
evident,  from  the  physician's  report,  that  he  feigned 
sickness,  it  was  determined  to  nse  other  antidotes  than 
physic,  and  see  if  he  could  not  be  restored  to  his  for 
mer  state  of  activity  and  good  conduct.  The  overseer 
received  his  orders,  and  proceeded  to  execute  them. 

Uncle  Tom's  wife  was  named  Dinah.  They  had 
lived  together  as  man  and  wife  for  twenty  years.  Both 
were  born  on  the  plantation,  and  they  had  several  chil 
dren.  Dinah  occupied  the  same  position  among  the 
negresses,  that  her  husband  did  among  the  negroes. 

o  O  O 

They  were  both  looked  up  to  by  their  fellow  blacks, 
and  all  along  enjoyed  the  esteem  and  confidence  of 
their  master.  They  were  also  members  of  the  church. 
Start  not,  gentle  reader !  The  fact  was  precisely  as  we 
now  write  it.  It  was  the  church  of  Christ,  through 
whom,  with  the  Father,  even  God  himself,  its  members 
prayed  for  life  eternal  in  the  world  to  come.  We  may 
as  well  add,  that  they  were  zealous  members,  and  for 
aught  that  appeared,  sincere  and  constant  believers 
in  the  faith.  We  have  almost  forgotten  the  particular 
denomination,  but  it  runs  in  our  mind  that  it  was  the 
Methodist  Episcopal.  Be  this  as  it  may,  they  believed 
in  the  existence  of  the  Soul.  Immortal,  and  that  its 


49 

destiny  in  the  world  to  come  was  heaven  or  hell, 
according  to  the  deeds  done  in  the  body.  Withal, 
Uncle  Tom  was  habitually  affable  and  courteous  to 
Dinah,  whom  he  loved  dearly.  It  is  true,  that  it  was 
his  custom,  and  so  indeed  was  it  her's,  to  mix  with 
their  fellow- slaves  in  the  pastimes  and  amusements 
incident  to  their  humble  lot.  Religion  with  them  was 
not  worldly  or  theoretical,  but  practical  —  such  as  the 
heart,  unburdened  of  the  webs  of  sophistry,  and  re 
lieved  from  the  artifice  of  self-interest,  would  intuitively 
receive  and  express.  The  same  might  be  said  of  some 
of  the  others,  but  not  of  all.  For  if  so,  the  quarters 
might  then  have  been  called  a  religious  community, 
and  quite  likely  run  into  a  sect,  which  would  have 
landed  them  in  the  end — we  will  not  undertake  to  say 
where.  In  short,  Uncle  Tom  and  Dinah  were  patterns 
for  their  fellows,  both  in  sobriety  and  merriment.  They 
were  not  so  old  as  to  be  antiquated,  nor  so  young  as  to 
be  free  and  easy  equals.  As  their  cabin  was  a  little 
the  best,  so  were  they  treated  with  a  little  more  con 
sideration,  in  other  respects,  by  their  master.  Such 
was  their  conduct  and  condition  from  year  to  year. 
"With  plenty  "  to  eat  and  to  wear,"  sheltered  from  the 
storms  and  elements  without,  and  "  free  of  care,"  they 
glided  tranquilly  down  the  stream  of  time,  in  the  un 
disturbed  enjoyment  of  happiness,  and  were  contented 
with  their  lot  in  society. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  of  the  race  in  the  corn 
field,  Dinah  was  as  chirk  as  usual.  Uncle  Tom  did 
not  come  home  as  soon  as  the  work  was  over,  and  the 
supper-table  waited  for  his  return  some  time.  It  was 


50  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH;    OB 

late  when  lie  entered  the  cabin.  This  did  not  disturb 
Dinah's  serenity;  indeed,  she  did  not  give  it  a  thought. 
She  was  putting  the  children  abed  when  he  came  in. 
After  she  had  tucked  up  the  clothes,  and  "  put  things 
to  rights,"  she  drew  up  her  rocking  chair  near  the  cor 
ner  of  the  fireplace,  took  up  her  knitting  work,  and 
commenced  humming  a  familiar  song.  It  was  Uncle 
Tom's  habit,  unless  he  was  too  fatigued,  to  unite  with 
her  in  singing,  and  especially  tliat  song.  But  he  did 
not  then  do  so.  This,  together  with  his  disinclination  to 
talk,  excited  her  attention.  She  thought  it  strange, 
for  she  could  not  discover  symptoms  of  unusual  fatigue, 
and  he  did  not  complain  of  being  unwell. 

u Tom,  wha'  the  matter?  You  1mb  a  bad  look,"  she 
said,  now  that  she  began  to  think  of  him. 

"  Dunno  —  dunno  Dinah." 

"You  arirt  guine  to  be  sick,  Tom?"  asked  Dinah, 
with  more  earnestness. 

"  II ab  bad  feeling,  Dinah.  The  debbil,  I'm  afeerd,  is 
in  uni,"  said  Tom,  and  began  to  undress  himself. 

Dinah  concluded  he  had  overworked  himself,  and 
dismissed  the  subject.  lie  passed  a  restless  night, 
and  in  the  morning  did  not  act  with  his  usual  cheer. 
Dinah  renewed  her  inquiries,  but  to  no  purpose.  lie 
was  short  in  his  conversation,  and  thoughtful.  She 
sawr  there  was  trouble  of  some  kind,  and  was  anxious 
to  acquaint  herself  with  it.  lie  kept  his  thoughts  to 
himself,  and  evinced  no  particular  haste  in  his  move 
ments,  lie  loitered  about  the  cabin,  and  did  not  get 
early  to  his  work.  AVlicn  he  came  for  his  dinner,  or 
returned  at  night,  his  conduct  remained  the  same  ;  and 


51 

so  it  continued  from  day  to  day,  and  from  week  to 
week,  until  Dinah  really  thought  that  "the  debbil  was 
in  um." 

Dinah  thought  it  would  be  beneficial  to  Uncle  Tom, 
if  he  would  participate  more  freely  in  the  weekly  mer 
riment  of  the  quarters.  So,  a  day  or  two  before  the 
above  mentioned  morning  visit  of  the  master  to  the 
cabin,  as  they  were  sitting  before  the  fire  in  the  eve 
ning,  she  thus  accosted  him  : 

"Tom,  you  likes  to  know  wha'  I'm  tinking  'bout?" 

"  Yas." 

"  Does  you?     Den  I'se  tell  you,  wid  all  my  heart." 

"  Dat  's  gude,  dat  's  gude,  Dinah." 

k'  I'se  tinking  wha'  jolly  time  we  will  hab  on  Satur 
day  arternoon,  down  under  ole  elm  trees,  on  bank  ob 
de  riber." 

"  Git  out !  I  goes  to  no  sich  place,  Dinah.  Too  much 
debbil  in  my  feelings  for  dat." 

"Wha5,  Tom  ?  not  go  wid  your  own  lubly  Dinah  to 
massa's  pic  nic !  Ki,  Tom,  enty  no  more  of  de  dance 
in  your  feelings  ?  Drive  um  out  dar.  Hop,  swash- 
shay,  hands  across,  down  an'  up  de  middle !  wid  Jeff's 
fiddle  to  keep  tune  by.  De  Lor'!  Tom,  we  hab  reglar 
breakdown." 

"  I  does  n't  go  right  now  wid  ole  massa.  Times 
altered ;  dey  ar'  not  as  used  to  was.  Hector  am  de 
nigger,  now.  De  overseer  says  he  is  head  'bove  dis 
nigger.  Can't  stand  it,  Dinah  !  I  won't — won't  stand 
it!  So  dar,  you  hab  my  feelings  now!"  said  Uncle 
Tom,  at  the  top  of  his  voice,  and  bringing  his  hand 
hard  upon  the  table. 


52  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

Dinah  was  surprised  at  this  announcement,  as  it 
was  the  first  intimation  she  had  of  the  cause  of  his 
displeasure.  And  his  look  and  gesture  nearly  terrified 
her.  She  loved  her  master  for  his  goodness  to  them, 
and  she  could  not  bear  to  think  unkindly  of  him." 

""Who  'bin  pouring  pi  son  in  your  ears  'bout  mas 
sa?"  she  said,  after  having  somewhat  recovered  from 
her  affright. 

"Durmo;  ole  overseer,  I  'spose,"  he  replied,  unwil 
ling  to  be  frank. 

"  Massa  was  in  cabin  yesterday,  first  time  sin'  he 
got  home  from  —  from  over  de  mountain.  Berry  glad 
to  see  his  ole  Dinah,  and  he  spoke  good  word  'bout 
Uncle  Tom.  Massa  good  as  eber.  You  hab  ocler 
feelings,  now,  I  hopes." 

"Wha'  dat?  THui'  dat  you  say!  massa  gude  as 
eber?"  said  he,  raising  his  voice. 

"I  says  so,"  replied  Dinah,  in  a  meek  tone,  as  if 
almost  afraid  of  its  effect  upon  Uncle  Tom. 

"Den,  I  says  dat  am  a  lie!  So  da]1,  you  hab  my 
ocler  feelings  !  "  he  replied  in  a  louder  voice  than  before. 

Dinah  began  to  cry  and  sob,  and  continued  sobbing 
the  residue  of  the  evening.  Poor  woman  !  little  did 
she  think  of  the  unhappy  days  in  store  for  her.  But 
Uncle  Tom's  stubborn  will  forbid  sympathy,  and  he 
disdained  to  comfort  her.  lie  did  not  go  to  the  dance. 
lie  was  too  proud,  or  too  envious  of  Hector  to  do  that. 
But  the  next  day  Dinah  thought  of  nothing  else.  It 
was  an  unusual  thing  for  Mr.  Erskine  to  give  such  an 
entertainment ;  and  she  not  only  desired  to  enjoy  the 
merriment,  "but  she  thought  that  it  would  displease 


53 

her  master,  if  the  slaves  were  not  all  present,  as  Pom- 
pey  said  that  they  must  be  sure  to  come.  And  when 
they  "began  to  leave  the  quarters  for  the  river  aide,  her 
heart  throbbed  to  accompany  them.  Uncle  Tom  was 
at  the  cabin.  He  did  not  even  sit  under  the  veranda, 
as  was  his  custom  on  a  sunny  afternoon,  if  he  had  no 
particular  work  to  do ;  but  remained  inside,  and,  as  it 
seemed  to  Dinah,  for  her  especial  annoyance,  although 
she  disliked  to  think  so. 

The  overseer  boarded  the  ground  beneath  the  trees, 
for  the  party.  All  the  negroes  and  negresses,  old  and 
young —  save  Uncle  Tom  and  his  family — were  there 
in  good  season.  Mr.  Erskine  had  taken  pains  to  fur 
nish  an  extra  entertainment ;  and  with  this  view  sent 
to  Millwood  for  boxes  of  lemons  and  raisins,  and  also 
several  cakes  of  loaf  sugar,  all  of  which  arrived  in 
good  time.  A  sort  of  bar  was  constructed  between 
the  trunks  of  two  large  trees,  where  punch,  and  wine, 
and  cakes  were  served  to  all.  Jeff  was  the  principal 
fiddler ;  the  fiddle-strings  were  in  good  order,  and  his 
bow  was  well  rosined.  And  no  sooner  had  he  reached 
the  chair  which  had  been  stationed  upon  the  boards 
for  his  special  use,  than  he  "  struck  up  "  one  of  his 
favorite  tunes.  The  company  were  as  ready  to  dance 
as  Jeif  was  to  draw  the  bow,  and  at  once  commenced, 
keeping  time  with  their  feet  to  its  enlivening  strains. 
Jn  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Erskine  made  his  appearance, 
and  the  slaves  appeared  happier  than  ever.  Now  and 
then  Jeff  would  stop  the  music,  and  refresh  himself  at 
the  bar,  and  presently  the  old  fiddle  would  be  more 
eoul-inspiring  than  before.  The  dancers,  too,  did  nut 


54:  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

forget  the  good  things  at  their  elbows,  and  freely  par 
took  of  them.  So  engaged,  finally,  did  they  become 
in  the  frolic,  that  they  were  not  content  simply  with 
dancing,  but  made  the  grove  echo  with  the  melody 
of  their  songs.  Jeff  caught  the  contagion 5  and  com 
menced  singing  to  a  familiar  air — 

Millwood  ladies  sing  dis  song, 

Du  da,  du  da. 
Millwood  race  track  five  miles  long, 

Du  da,  du  da. 
Go  down  dar  wid  my  hat  caved  in, 

Du  da,  du  da  ; 
Come  back  home  wid  pocket  full  ob  tin, 

Du  da,  du  da. 

And  when  he  had  sung  as  tar  as  this,  the  whole  com 
pany  joined  in  chorus,  beating  time  with  their  feet : 

Guine  to  run  all  night, 

Guine  to  run  all  dav, 
I'll  bet  my  money  on  de  bob-tail  lioss, 

Somebody  bet  on  de  bay. 

Jeff,  not  satisfied,  continued  to  sing  — 

De  bob-tail  horse  he  can't  be  beat, 

Du  da,  du  da  ; 
Runriin'  around  in  a  two-mile  heat, 

Du  da,  du  da. 
I  win  my  money  on  de  bob-tail  nag, 

Du  da,  du  da ; 
An'  carry  it  home  in  de  ole  tow  bag, 

Du  da,  du  da. 

And  the  others  again  joined  in  chorus,  as  before,  and 
Jeff  listened.  "  Da's  it,"  he  said,  as  he  stopped  to 
rosin  his  bow. 


55 

"  Give  'urn  more,  ole  breakdown!  "  exclaimed  Hector. 
"  Yas,  sar,  I'se  do  n't  gib  up  so,"  said  Jeff,  and 
"  struck  up  "  again  — 

Dar  's  fourteen  horses  in  dis  race, 

Du  da,  du  da  ; 
I'm  snug  in  saddle,  an'  got  good  brace, 

Du  da,  du  da. 
De  sorrel  horse  he  's  got  a  cough, 

Du  da,  du  da  ; 
An'  his  rider  's  drunk  in  de  ole  hay  loft, 

Du  da,  du  da, 

and  the  grove  again  resounded  with  the  chorus. 

"Now.  jist  you  stop  dar!"  shouted  out  Pompey, 
who  assisted  Jeff  with  his  banjo,  and  wras  full  of  the 
glee,  "  an'  hear  a  song  dat  I'se  guine  to  gib." 

Jeff  complied  with  this  request,  and  Pompey  sung 
the  ditty: 

Dar  libed  on  Virginny  shore, 

Not  many  years  ago, 
A  maid  who  often  swore, 

To  lub  none  but  Pompey  Snow. 
For  oft  when  dey  were  strolling  'long, 

Her  lub  for  him  she  'd  tell, 
An'  I  will  speak  now  in  my  song, 
Ob  cruel  Lucy  Bell. 
Ob  cruel  Lucy  Bell. 

Oh  !  Lucy  deceibed  him  quite, 

An'  left  him  all  alone  ; 
She  started  one  stormy  night, 
From  her  Virginny  home, 
Dey  searched  de  woods  for  many  a  day, 

All  efforts  proved  in  vain, — 
But  time  now  tells  she  ran  away, 

An'  Pompey 's  heart  was  slain  ! 
An'  Pompey 's  heart  was  slain  ! 


56  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OK 

She  was  false  to  him, 

But  he  could  not  think  so 
Lub  was  not  wid  dem, 

Unhappy  Pompey  Snowl 

An' 

"  Dar,  stop  right  clar,  Pompey  !  "  interrupted  Csesar, 
who  had  just  come  from  the  bar,  and  was  anxious  to 
hear  Jeff's  fiddle  again;  "we'll  hear  de  balance  ob 
your  lub  song  some  oder  time.  Come,  Jen',  draw  clat 
ar'  bow  of  yonrn,  and  gib  um  glory  !" 

All  called  for  Jeff,  and  he  fiddled  at  the  rate  of  ten 
knots  an  hour.  The  slaves  caught  the  symphony,  and 
shuffled  at  as  rapid  speed,  and  the  dance  terminated 
in  a  perfect  rout.  They  cracked  their  jokes,  sung  their 
songs,  and  frolicked  with  merry  glee,  until  a  late  hour. 
Mr.  Erskine  was  happy  in  their  enjoyment ;  and  re 
turning  to  the  mansion,  retired  to  his  bed,  and  was 
lulled  to  sleep  by  the  rapturous  melody,  as  it  sweetly 
and  faintly  fell  upon  his  ears  from  the  river-side.  The 
stars  "  did  lend  their  light  for  torches,"  and  the  eve 
ning  run  into  morning  Ions*  before  the  slaves,  contented 

CD  cT?  o 

with  the  night's  mirth,  reached  the  quarters. 


CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  57 


CHAP  TEE  IY. 

THE    PUNISHMENT. 

"  The  world  is  growing  older, 
And  wiser  day  by  day; 
Everybody  knows  beforehand, 
What  you  're  going  to  say! 
We  used  to  laugh  and  frolic, 
"Novr  we  must  behave  ! 
Poor  old  Fun  is  dead  and  buried, — 
Pride  dug  his  grave," 

"  Come  with  me,"  said  the  overseer  to  Uncle  Tom, 
as  he  looked  into  the  cabin,  shortly  after  the  slaves 
had  gone  to  the  dance;  "I  have  use  for  you.  I  be 
lieve  you  do  n't  go  to  the  frolic  this  afternoon.  Come, 
sir!"' 

Uncle  Tom  obeyed,  but  with  reluctance.  lie  fol 
lowed  the  overseer,  who  w^ent  up  the  highway  a  short 
distance,  and  turning  into  a  by-lane,  directed  his 
course  toward  the  river.  Dinah  watched  them  from 
the  veranda  until  they  were  out  of  her  sight. 

""Whar'  can  de  obuseer  be  going  wid  my  Tom?" 
said  she  to  herself.  "Something  wrong,  something 
wrong!  Dis  accounts  for  Tom's  feelings.  Why  dar 


58  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

dey  go  down  de  cow  path  !  I  'm  afeerd  it's  for  no  good. 
De  Lor'  hab  mercy  on  us!"  she  added,  with  tears  in 
her  eyes,  and  sitting  down  upon  the^bench  wiped  them 
away  with  her  check  apron,  and  feeling  as  if  her  poor 
heart  was  almost  broken.  Her  little  children  rolled 
up  the  whites  of  their  sparkling  eyes  in  astonishment. 
It  was  an  unusual  sight  for  them  to  behold.  Their 
mother  crying,  and  that  too  on  a  Saturday  afternoon! 
They  huddled  around  her,  and  expressing  their  sym 
pathy  in  childish  prattle,  tried  to  soothe,  but  with 
little  effect. 

The  overseer  continued  on  in  the  lane  until  he 
reached  an  old,  tenantless  log  hovel,  which  stood  near 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  but  a  short  distance  north 
of  the  elm  grove.  The  hovel  was  upon  the  north  side 
of  a  small  hill,  near  a  brook  which  ran  along  its  base, 
and  could  not  be  seen,  either  from  the  grove  or  the 
quarters. 

"  ]Srow,"  said  the  overseer,  turning  around  to  Uncle 
Tom,  and  looking  at  him  sharply,  "go  in  there;" 
pointing  to  the  door  of  the  hovel ;  "  as  Mr.  Erskine 
fitted  the  grove  for  Hector,  he  at  the  same  time  fitted 
this  place  for  you.  Perhaps  in  this  solitary  confine 
ment  yon  will  reflect  upon  your  conduct,  and  mend 
your  ways.  At  any  rate,  you  will  have  abundance  of 
leisure  to  do  so.  Go  in,  sir,"  taking  the  slave  by  the 
arm,  as  he  seemed  to  hesitate.  "  Go  in,  and  I  '11  safely 
secure  the  door,  so  that  you  may  not  be  disturbed  in 
your  meditations  by  intruders." 

Uncle  Tom's  steps  were  slow,  and  he  stopped  in  the 
doorwav.  lie  gave  a  deep.  Ions:  siffli,  and  evidently 

*  C1  i    7  *,- 


59 

was  inclined  to  parley ;  but  the  overseer  gave  him  a 
jog,  and,  closing  the  door  against  him,  turned  the  key 
of  a  large,  strong  padlock,  and  walked  quickly  away. 
The  hovel  was  close,  having  but  one  aperture  ;  and 
that,  in  former  times,  had  been  used  as  a  window. 
Mr.  Erskinc  would  not  have  accomplished  his  purpose 
if  he  had  closed  up  this,  as  he  did  not  wish  the  sound 
of  merriment  from  the  grove  wholly  to  escape  the  ears 
of  the  slave.  So  he  left  it  open,  but  took  the  precau 
tion  to  fasten  some  bars  of  iron  across  it,  to  prevent 
esciipe.  There  was  some  straw  spread  upon  the  floor, 
on  which  the  slave  could  repose  himself,  if  so  disposed. 
His  imprisonment  was  so  sudden  and  unexpected,  that, 
at  first,  he  scarcely  realized  his  situation ;  and  for  a 
few  moments  after  he  entered  the  hovel,  he  stood  almost 
as  motionless  as  a  statue.  He,  however,  soon  felt  an 
inclination  to  sit  down  ;  and  casting  his  eyes  around, 
he  discovered  the  straw.  And  then,  for  the  first  time, 
the  idea  flashed  across  his  mind,  that  perhaps  upon 
this  he  was  doomed  to  draw  his  last  breath.  He 
sighed  more  deeply  than  before,  and,  feeling  that  his 
work  on  the  plantation  was  over  forever,  he  sunk 
down  upon  the  straw.  His  thoughts  whirled  wildly  in 
his  brain,  and  with  more  of  insanity  than  grief,  he 
stretched  his  limbs  upon  this  lonely  bed.  There  he 
lay,  in  a  drowsy  stupor,  for  hours.  At  length,  coming 
to  his  consciousness,  he  suddenly  sprung  up,  and  went 
to  the  window.  The  sweet  strains  of  Jeff's  fiddle  and 
Pompey's  banjo,  as  they  were  waited  by  the  gentle 
night-breeze  from  the  grove,  caught  his  ear,  and  he 
involuntarily  stood  and  listened  with  rapture.  When 


60  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

at  intervals  the  music  ceased,  lie  thought  of  Hector, 
and  envious  feelings  would  again  take  possession  of  his 
proud  and  stubborn  heart.  And  then,  vexed  because 
he  listened,  he  would  go  away  from  the  window.  The 
atmosphere,  however,  was  clear,  and  it  was  difficult 
for  his  ears  to  escape  the  sound  ;  and  the  high,  full 
moon,  rode  the  heavens  in  magnificent  luster,  and  the 
scene  without  was  too  attractive  for  his  eyes  to  confine 
their  gaze  within.  These  senses  got  the  better  of  the 
others,  and  for  the  time  mastered  him. 

But  finally  the  night  was  still,  and,  unable  to  sleep, 
he  was  really  left  to  silent  reflection.  And  then  did 
lie  remember  his  past  joys,  and  how  contentedly  he 
had  lived,  basking  in  the  smiles  of  his  master,  and 
abundantly  supplied  with  all  the  necessaries  of  life. 
lie  thought  of  his  youth,  when  his  master  cared  for 
him  like  a  father;  of  the  manly  delight  with  which 
he  and  his  lovely  Dinah  first  took  possession  of  the 
cabin,  and  of  the  many  and  many  happy  hours  passed 
at  the  quarters.  lie  recalled  to  his  mind  the  labors 
of  the  plantation,  and  the  pride  with  which  he  excelled 
his  fellow-slaves,  and  his  heart  would  again  almost 
throb  with  exultation.  And  now,  he  was  confined! 
shut  up,  like  a  cat,  to  pine  and  die!  and  he  cursed  the 
hour  that  first  gave  him  the  light.  He  thought,  too, 
of  Dinah,  and  how  her  mind  must  be  distracted  at  his 
absence  —  of  his  young  children,  and  how  they  must 
cry  when  his  footsteps  were  no  longer  heard,  and  his 
face  no  more  seen, —  and  the  tears,  for  the  first  time 
since  the  contest  with  Hector,  trickled  freely  down 
Lis  cheeks,  and  cold  drops  of  perspiration  bathed  his 


61 

forehead.  lie  cursed  his  hard  fate,  and  wished  he 
was  a  better  num. 

The  overseer  went  from  the  hovel  to  the  grove,  and 
there  reported  to  Mr.  Erskine  the  confinement  of  the 
slave,  agreeably  to  his  orders.  Hector  and  the  others 
attributed  Uncle  Tom's  absence  to  his  usual  surliness, 
and  thought  not  much  of  it.  But  the  next  afternoon, 
as  they  began  to  crawl  out  of  the  quarters,  they  were 
informed  of  his  absence  from  the  cabin.  Dinah  would 
not  tell  them  the  circumstances  under  which  he  left 
the  cabin,  for  she  was  ashamed  to  do  that;  all  she  said 
was,  that  he  had  gone,  and  she  knew  not  where.  They 
began  to  be  alarmed  at  his  absence.  Even  Hector, 
whom  he  had  lately  treated  so  coldly,  was  anxious  to 
know  what  had  happened  to  him,  and  he  went  to  the 
cabin  at  once : 

"Dinah,  whar'  did  Uncle  Tom  go?"  he  said,  as  he 
entered  it. 

"Dunno,  Hector." 

"Did  he  goes  alone,  Dinah?" 

"Dmmo." 

"  Dunno,  Dinah  ?     You  not  seed  him  go,  den  ? " 

"  Yas,  I  seed  him  go,  Hector,"  she  said,  beginning 
to  cry. 

"  Enty  you  wo'nt  tell  Hector,  den  ;  is  dat  it?  " 

"  He  went  down  de  road." 

"When?" 

"  Yesterday  arternoon." 

"What  time,  Dinah?" 

"  Jist  arter  you  all  ob  you  went  down  to  de 
river." 


62  LIFE    AT    THE    SOU Til ;    OK 

"An'  you  hab  not  seen  urn  sin'  dat  hour?  Some- 
tiling  wrong  somewhar',  Dinah,  depend  on  't ;  "  and 
lie  scratched  his  head.  After  a  pause,  he  added, 
"'Did  he  go  up  or  down  de  road  ? " 

"  He  went  np  to  de  cow-path,  and  turned  in  dar." 

"  Da's  it,"  said  Jeff,  who  stood  by  them,  listening, 
"  I'se  knowed  um  all  now  !  Ho  's  gone  to  de  riber 
an'  thrown  his  body  into  de  water.  "We  shall  see 
no  more  of  um." 

Dinah  gave  a  shriek,  and  Hector  declared  that  it 
was  their  duty  to  go  and  examine  the  river,  and  if  he 
was  drowned,  recover  his  body.  This  proposition  was 
assented  to  by  all  present,  and  the  news  immediately 
prevailed  in  the  quarters  that  Uncle  Turn  had  gone  to 
the  river  and  committed  suicide. 

"  Jeff,  you  git  into  de  skiff,  and  go  on  oder  side  of 
de  riber,  and  look  for  tracks.'1  said  Hector,  when  they 

•/ 

reached  the  bank  of  the  river. 

"I'm  'most  afeerd  to  do  dat!"  said  Jeff,  with  a 
sort  of  superstitious  fear. 

"  Afeerd,  <F  ye  say?  Lor',  Jeff,  what  you  afeerd  of?" 

"  If  Uncle  Tom  is  dead,  de  debbil  is  near  um,  he 
acts  so  bad  to  massa  dis  long  time." 

"  Git  out  o'  de  way  den,  nigger !  "  said  Ctcsar,  in  a 
tone  of  contempt  for  Jeff's  cowardice,  "dis  nigger 
will  go  across  de  water  stark  alone.  But,"  scratching 
his  head,  "  I  'in  tinking  dat  you  had  better  go  wid  me, 
for  I  would  want  help  to  lift  um  into  de  skiff." 

"Da's  it,  Ciesar- — da's  it,  nigger!  I'm  guine  wid 
you,"  replied  Jeff,  taking  courage,  under  the  belief 
that  he  should  be  safe  from  the  evil  one. 


63 

"  Do  you  tink  dat  two  ob  us  is  enough  for  de  debbil? 
What  a  fool  you  am,  Jeff!  De  debbil  is  strong  enough 
for  all  de  niggers  on  massa's  plantation,  if  he  fight 
wid  all  his  might  an'  strength.  No  debbil  ober  dar, 
or  I  would  not  be  guine  to  hunt  for  dead  body." 

u  Das  am  it,  Caesar ;  an'  Jeff  not  afeer'd  now." 

"  Jist  step  dat  foot  ob  your'n  lightly,"  remarked 
Csesar,  as  Jeff  was  about  to  get  into  the  skiff,  lest  he 
might  upset  it. 

"  Ise  knowM  what  I  'm  about,"  said  Jeff,  as  he 
seated  himself  in  the  skiff',  near  the  center. 

"]Xow  pull  de  oar,  Jeff',  and  I  steer  wid  dis  paddle. 
Here  we  go,"  and  they  made  for  the  opposite  shore. 

When  near  the  middle  of  the  stream,  Csesar,  either 
by  accident  or  from  design,  changed  the  direction  of 
the  skiff'  very  suddenly,  and  Jeff,  losing  his  balance, 
careened  the  skiff  too  much  upon  one  side,  and  over 
he  went  into  the  water.  It  was  not  the  depth  of  the 
water  so  much,  although  it  was  quite  deep  in  that 
particular  spot,  as  this  unexpected  immersion,  that 
bewildered  Jeff';  and,  as  he  rose  to  the  surface,  he 
begged  for  help  from  Csesar,  in  this  his  hour  of  need. 

'"  Keep  your  wool  'bove  water  mark,  Jeff,  an'  blow 
yourself  like  a  bladder,  until  I  cotch  hold  ob  you," 
said  Csesar. 

"Yas,"  faintly  replied  Jeff,  almost  choking  with 
the  water,  and  endeavoring  to  spit  it  out  of  his  mouth 
and  blow  it  out  of  his  wide,  flat  nostrils. 

Csesar,  being  seated  in  the  stern,  was  able  to  keep 
his  position,  and  in  a  moment,  the  skiff  was  upright. 

It  was    perfectly    manageable,   and    before    Jeff'  had 
3 


6:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OK 

hardly  made  his  outcry  for  help,  it  was  alongside  of 
him.  But  the  skiff  was  so  light,  it  was  difficult  to 
hoist  him  into  the  little  yawl,  without  upsetting. 
Caesar  ordered  Jeff  to  take  hold  of  the  oar,  which  he 
held  out  to  him,  and  he  would  draw  him  into  shallow 
water.  Jeff"  obeyed,  and  was  soon  out  of  danger. 

Hector  noticed  Jeff  ^s  mishap,  and  was  more  dis 
posed  to  stand  and  laugh,  than  to  lend  a  helping  hand. 
As  he  wallowed  up  the  Lank,  his  clothes  dripping 
with  water,  his  appearance  was  truly  ridiculous. 
"Vexed  at  Caesar,  he  cast  the  blame  upon  him,  and 
threatened  vengeance  in  return  fur  the  ducking.  Hec 
tor  beckoned  to  Caesar,  to  come  back  with  the  skiff 
with  the  intention  of  crossing  the  river  himself.  Caesar 
accordingly,  as  soon  as  Jeff  landed  on  terra  lirma, 
turned  the  course  of  the  skiff,  and  made  for  the  oppo 
site  side  of  the  river.  Jeff,  after  he  climbed  the  bank, 
congratulated  himself  upon  his  miraculous  escape 
from  drowning,  and,  like  a  wet  dog,  began  to  shake 
off  the  water ;  at  the  same  time  muttering  his  threats 
at  Caesar : 

"Dar's  no  use  of  denying  it,"  he  said,  supposing 
that  Caesar  was  within  speaking  distance,  and  heard 
every  word  that  he  uttered,  u  an'  I  '11  pay  mn  back  to 
you.  Dis  nigger  is  not  to  be  fooled,  anyhow;  clat  you 
see,"  and  he  turned  around  with  the  expectation  of  re 
ceiving  some  reply  from  his  companion,  when,  to  his 
surprise,  he  discovered  Caesar  paddling  his  skiff'  to 
ward  the  other  side  of  the  river.  The  thought  struck 
him  now,  more  forcibly  than  ever,  that  Caesar  meant  to 
drown  him,  and,  failing  to  do  so,  that  he  had  now  left 


65 

him  to  the  tender  mercies  of  the  devil.  lie  attempted 
to  run,  and  where,  he  did  not  stop  to  consider;  but 
his  entire  body  quaked  so  with  fear,  that  he  found  his 
limbs  lacked  the  power  of  locomotion. 

uWha'  the  matter  wid  you?"  said  Hector  to  him, 
as  lie  jumped  from  the  skiff  on  to  the  bank.  uWha' 
you  'bout,  nigger?" 

"Dun-no!"  he  answered,  his  teeth  chattering  so 
that  he  could  scarcely  articulate. 

"  De  Lor' !  if  you  hav  n't  cle  ole  ague  fit  on  you ! 
JS^eber  mind,  Jeff;  soon  git  off." 

"  I  'spects-not ;  it  is  cle  debbil !  "  he  said,  already 
beginning  to  feel  easier. 

"  Gosh  !  I  sees  no  debbil,  nigger.  You  got  home 
too  late  last  night.  I  felt  the  dew  when  you  gib  urn 
de  last  dance.  You  are  in  de  midst  of  an  ague  fit, 
ole  fellar!  Xeber  mind,  we  will  row  you  up,  in  dat 
ar  skiff,  to  the  elms,  and  take  you  to  de  quarters ;  dat 
am  nearer  than  the  cow-path,"  Hector  encouragingly 
replied,  and  he  and  Caesar  took  him  by  the  arms,  and 
assisted  him  into  the  skiff. 

It  so  happened,  that  while  the  slaves,  just  alluded 
to,  were  at  the  river,  the  overseer  meanwhile  was  at 
the  old  hovel,  having  entered  it  about  the  time  they 
turned  from  the  highway  into  the  lane.  And  it  not 
entering  into  their  minds,  that  the  object  of  their 
search  was  in  the  hovel,  they  passed  by  it  without 
observing  the  padlock,  which,  if  they  had  noticed  it, 
probably  would  have  attracted  their  attention  inside. 

The  overseer  found  Uncle  Tom  in  a  repentant  mood. 
lie  had  been  confined  there  some  twenty-four  hours, 


66  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

and  the  cravings  of  hunger  reminded  him  very  forc 
ibly  of  his  cabin  at  the  quarters.  lie  was  praying, 
from  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  to  be  released  from  the 
imprisonment,  before  the  overseer  opened  the  door ; 
and  when  he  made  his  appearance,  the  slave  was 
pleased  to  see  him,  and  so  expressed  himself,  both  in 
words  and  actions.  The  overseer  was  also  pleased  at 
the  impression  which  the  punishment  appeared  to 
have  made,  and  inquired  if  he  had  drove  away  "  his 
feelings/' 

"Massa,  I  hab  now  no  odcr  than  good  thoughts; 
the  bad  ones  I  have  parted  with,"  said  Uncle  Tom, 
in  a  suppliant  tone,  and  with  an  imploring  look. 

"  Can  yon  forget  the  bad,  and  remember  the  good 
only?" 

"  Yas,  massa,  yas.  I  can  be  as  good  as  I  eber 
was,  and  me  an'  Dinah  will  lib  as  happy  as  eber  in 
de  cabin/' 

"  Come,  then,"  said  the  overseer,  'c  and  we  will  walk 
up  to  the  quarters  ; "  and  they  left  the  hovel,  and 
wTent  up  the  lane.  Before  they  walked  far,  they  heard 
a  cry,  as  if  for  help,  in  the  direction  of  the  river,  and 
stopped  and  listened.  But  the  sound  did  not  again 
greet  their  ears,  and  they  paid  no  more  attention  to  it, 
and  passed  on  to  the  cabin.  As  they  entered  it,  the 
overseer  remarked  — 

"There,  Dinah,  I  have  returned  with  Uncle  Tom. 
He  has  lost  'his  feelings,'  and  will  be  a  better  man. 
A  happy  clay  to  you." 

It  is  unnecessary  to  relate  how  delighted  Dinah  was, 
•:y  this  agreeable  surprise,  for  she  had  given  him  up 


6T 

for  dead.  She  ran  out  of  the  cabin,  to  give  the  pleas 
ing  news  to  her  fellow-slaves,  and  who  should  she 
see  but  Hector  and  Caesar  returning  to  the  quarters, 
carrying  Jeff  on  their  shoulders." 

"Tom  is  in  de  cabin  alive! "  she  shouted. 

"  Wha'  dat  you  say,  Dinah  ?  "  exclaimed  Jeff,  and 
at  the  same  time  endeavoring  to  raise  himself. 

"Tom  hab  jist  come  back  with  de  overseer," -she 
replied,  and  ran  back  into  the  cabin. 

Jeff  immediately  showed  symptoms  of  convales 
cence,  and,  uneasy  to  get  a  glimpse  of  Uncle  Tom, 
broke  loose  from  his  companions  and  followed  Dinah. 
Hector  and  Caesar,  believing  that  Dinah's  sorrow  was 
feigned,  and  that  she  had  made  fools  of  them,  were 
not  so  very  desirous  of  paying  their  respects  to  Uncle 
Tom,  and  went  to  their  own  quarter. 

"  Das  am  it,"  exclaimed  Jeff,  the  moment  his  eyes 
fell  upon  him  ;  and  slapping  him  on  his  back  added, 
"no  ghost!  you  am  de  ole  nigger  himself,  by  golly!" 

"Dat  yon,  Jeff?" 

"  Yas.     Uncle  Tom,  wrhar — whar  hab  you  bin  ?  " 

"  Whar  hab  you  bin,  Jeff?  Why,  how  wet  you 
are !  You  Lav  n't  been  in  de  river,  or  nothing,  Lab 
you?" 

"Don't   mention   it,   Uncle  Tom  —  don't   mention 
it,"  said  Jeff,  in  a  much  lower  tone. 
"  Did  you  fall  into  de  water  ?  " 
"  Dar  you  hab  me,  Uncle  Tom ;  you  cotch'd  me  on 
de  hip.     I  must  describe  um  to  you  an'  Dinah,"  said 
Jeff,  taking  a  chair  for  an  afternoon  chit-chat. 
"Do,  good  Jeff,"  said  Dinah. 


C8  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"Well  den,  yon  know VI  dis  nigger,  Dinah,  started 
to  find  Uncle  Tom's  body." 

"Yas." 

"Well  den,  you  know'd  I'se  fetched  up  at  ole  river, 
right  at  the  foot  of  cow-path." 

"  I  Aspects  so,  Jeff,"  said  Dinah. 

"Iknow'd  so.  Well  den,  Hector  —  dat  ole  nigger 
dat  beat  Uncle  Tom  planting  corn." 

"Dare  —  dare  —  stop  whar' you  am!"  suddenly  in 
terrupted  Uncle  Turn  ;  and  at  the  same  time  laying  his 
hand  upon  Jeff's  arm. 

"Wha' — wha'  de  matter  wid  um,  Uncle  Tom?" 
inquired  Jeff,  with  amazement. 

"I  hab  lost  'my  feelings,'  tin'  I  am  afeer'd  you  call 
um  back,  if  you  talk  'bout  Hector.  Dat 's  all,  Jeff," 
who  was  satisiied  witli  the  explanation  as  given,  and 
proceeded. 

"Well,  den  Hector," — Uncle  Tom  gave  a  shudder. 

"No,  not  Hector," — Uncle  Tom  gave  a  sigh. 

"  Caesar,  not  Hector, "-—Uncle  Tom  jumped  up  out 
of  his  chair,  and  looked  toward  the  door.  Dinah 
started  up  too,  and  was  upon  the  point  of  imploring 
Jeff  to  stop,  when  he  exclaimed  with  much  earnest 
ness,  his  eyes  meanwhile  upon  Uncle  Tom,  "  Hold  your 
temper,  Uncle  Tom,  I  'in  not  guine  to  make  short 
story  long." 

"  Blast  your  story,  and  Hector  likewise !  my  feel 
ings  hab  come  back  again,  Jeff;  an' — an'  you  are  de 
cause  of  all  my  trouble  now,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  with 
great  earnestness  in  his  manner,  and  moved  toward  the 
door.  Dinah  again  began  to  cry,  and  Jeff,  feeling 


C9 

that  he  had  produced  this  unhappiness,  and  that  too 
very  unwittingly  on  his  part,  almost  shed  tears  himself. 
Satisfied  that  Uncle  Tom  was  alive,  he  thought  it  best 
to  omit  narrating  the  residue  of  the  story,  and  moved 
toward  the  door,  also.  As  they  were  passing  through 
the  doorway  together,  Jeff  remarked  that  he  was  sorry 
that  he  had  ruffled  his  mind ;  that  he  always  had  been 
his  friend,  and  was  so  now. 

"  I  know'd  so  —  I  know'd  so,"  replied  Uncle  Tom  in 
a  more  subdued  voice. 

"Sit  down  wid  mo  under  the  veranda,  and  I  '11  told 
you  all  'bout  it,"  he  added,  and  both  took  a  seat  on 
a  bench. 

"  Proceed,  now,  proceed  wid  wha'  you  would  told 


55 
"5 


"  Well  den,"  said  Jeff,  "  Caesar  ordered  me  to  git 
into  de  skiff,  and  go  ober  de  riber  and  find  your  body. 
Well,  you  know'd  dat  I,  eber  sin'  I  was  born,  was 
afeerd  of  ole  debbil,  an'  I  ax'd  him  go  an'  do  likewise. 
He  agreed  to  my  proposition,  an'  was  to  go,  when 
Hector  said,  you  must  go  also,  Jeff;  an'  as  I  thought 
two  ob  us  would  be  too  much  for  de  ole  fellar,  I 
consented." 

"Hector  know'd  what  he  was  'bout,"  said  Uncle 
Tom,  and  put  on  a  very  knowing  look. 

"Wlui'  dat  you  remarked?" 

"  I  say  Hector  know'd  — " 

"  Know'd  ?     Know'd  what  ? "  inquired  Jeff. 

"  Dat  you  was  to  be  drown'd,"  replied  Uncle  Tom, 
anticipating  that  Jeff  was  upset,  or  that  himself  and 


70  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

the  overseer  would  not  have  heard  the  cry  for  help, 
and  Jeff's  clothes  would  not  be  wet. 

"  Da's  it,  by  golly  !  I  barely  escaped,"  answered 
Jeff,  and  pleased  that  Uncle  Torn  was  sagacious  enough 
to  appreciate  the  design  upon  his  life. 

u  Almost  miraculous." 

"  Yas." 

u  And  ovuseer  is  disappointed." 

"  Mistaken  dare,  Uncle  Tom.  Overseer  was  not 
wid  us." 

"Yas,  but  he  had  given  Hector  orders  what  to  do." 

"What  do  you  know  'bout  it?"  asked  Jeff,  with 
surprise. 

"  I  know'd  overseer  was  boun'  to  hab  my  life  dis 
day,  and  he  meant  dat  you  should  go  wid  me,"  an 
swered  Uncle  Tom. 

Jeff  was  amazed,  and  thought  a  moment.  "  W  liar'— 
whar'  was  you  to  be  killed  ?  "  he  then  inquired. 

"In  de  ole  hovel?"  said  Uncle  Tom,  in  a  grave 
voice. 

"  What !  in  de  hovel  in  ole  cow-path  ?  " 

"  1  as,  I  was  locked  in  dar  yesterday,  to  starve  my 
life  out.  But  overseer  relented,  an'  let  me  out,  when 
you  was  in  de  water." 

"  Dat  am  horrible,  Uncle  Tom,  Jiomble  !  If  inassa 
know'd  it,  he  would  turn  urn  off." 

"Dare  you  are  mistaken,  Jeff.  Massa  know'd  it, 
an'  told  overseer  to  do  so." 

"  Overseer  lied,  if  he  told  so!  I  know\l  inassa 
won't  take  life.  He  's  too  good,"  insisted  Jeff. 


US  OLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  71 

"  Oh  !  you  do  n't  know  massa  as  well  as  I  do.  He 
do  n't  act  without  motive,  dat  I  can  tell  you,  from 
experience,"  urged  Uncle  Tom,  with  the  determination 
of  gaining  over  Jeff  to  his  views. 

"I  won't  believe  it,  'till  I  see'd  um  wid  my  own 
eyes.  Massa  gib  us  a  good  time  at  de  grove.  I  fid 
dled,  and  he  danc'd  wid  um  all.  Oh  !  how  he  did  dance. 
And  he  would  not  do  dat,  if  he  was  'bout  to  kill  poor 
slave.  Xo,  no,  Uncle  Tom.  It  was  punishment; 
da's  it." 

"You  am  a  fool,  Jeff!  dat 's  what  you  ar',"  replied 
Uncle  Tom,  annoyed  at  his  stubbornness. 

"  If  I  ar'  a  fool,  I  can  plant  corn  wid  Hector,"  said 
Jeff,  angrily,  and  he  got  up  from  his  seat  and  left  the 
veranda. 

Uncle  Tom  was  disappointed  in  his  game.  Jeff  was 
too  strongly  attached  to  his  master,  to  believe  him  ca 
pable  of  intentionally  committing  a  wrong  ;  especially 
such  a  wrong  as  Uncle  Tom  attributed  to  him. 


72  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OH 


CHAPTER  Y. 

THE     SCHOOLMASTER. 

"  All  lots  are  equal,  and  all  states  the  same, 
Alike  in  merit,  though  unlike  in  name." 

It  is  fashionable  to  regard  disappointment  as  the 
source  of  unhappiness.  Sometimes  such  is  the  fact. 
But  the  careful  observer  can  not  have  failed  to  notice, 
in  many  instances,  a  contrary  effect.  There  is  such  a 
thing  as  "agreeable  disappointment."  The  statesman 
in  his  cabinet,  or  the  general  in  the  field,  may  have 
anticipated  defeat,  and  be  victorious  ;  the  shipholder, 
amid  the  tempest  and  storm,  may  expect  to  learn  that 
his  vessel  has  been  stranded  or  lost,  and  with  the  dawn 
of  day  behold  it  sale  at  anchorage  ;  and  the  tiller  of 
the  soil  may  fear  the  barrenness  of  his  labors,  and  yet 
garner  a  bountiful  harvest.  And  thus  what,  under 
other  circumstances,  might  have  produced  no  unusual 
sensation,  is  now  the  source  of  delight. 

Mr.  Erskine  was  far  happier,  at  Washington,  when 
he  found  that  the  interests  of  the  planter,  in  their  most 
sensitive  relations,  were  duly  taken  care  of — which 
he  did  not  anticipate ;  and  he  enjoyed  himself  much 


more,  after  he  returned  home,  when,  contrary  to  his 
expectation,  he  beheld  the  forwardness  of  the  planta 
tion.  And  even  JefF — how  very  agreeably  disap 
pointed  he  must  have  been,  when  he  alighted  upon 
terra  firma  in  safety  ;  and  again,  when  he  reached  the 
quarters,  and  found  his  friend,  Uncle  Tom,  alive.  But 
we  can  not  say  as  much,  when,  under  the  veranda,  he 
heard  that  negro  malign  his  master.  Jeff  knew  the 
malevolence  which  he  entertained  toward  the  overseer, 
for  he  exhibited  it  in  his  ill  conduct,  and  the  cause 
was  obvious.  But,  why  he  should  allow  his  hatred  or 
enmity  to  extend  to  the  master,  and  especially  what 
reason  could  exist  for  supposing  him  desirous  of  taking 
their  lives,  was  beyond  his  comprehension.  Perhaps 
the  kind  treatment  of  his  master.,  and  the  jovial  enter 
tainment  of  the  day  previous,  may  have  prejudiced 
Jeff  in  his  favor.  However  that  may  be,  Uncle  Tom 
was  not  successful  in  the  effort  to  estrange  his  feelings. 
He  was  disappointed,  and  in  more  misery  than  ever. 
But  his  lot  was  cast;  and  however  unpleasant  to  the 
mind,  to  drudge  and  toil  without  gaining  an  inherit 
ance  fur  himself,  yet  he  was  not  prepared  to. say,  in 
the  language  of  the  poet, 

"These  arms 
Invite  the  chain,  the  naked  breast  the  steel ; " 

and  therefore,  he  resumed  the  accustomed  labors  of 
the  plantation  with  more  alacrity  and  apparent  good 
will. 

We  do  not  propose  to  detail  the  various  daily  inci 
dents,   as  they  occurred   from  week  to  week,  oil  the 


74:  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  J    OR 

plantation,  except  so  far  as  they  appertain  to  our  nar 
rative.  And  if  we  succeed  in  this,  we  shall  have 
accomplished  our  undertaking. 

Some  weeks  after  the  occurrences  above  mentioned, 
Mr.  Erskine  was  reposing  himself  in  the  piazza  of  his 
mansion,  and  enjoying  the  luxury  of  an  afternoon 
siesta.  On  awakening  from  his  slumber,  he  noticed 
a  gentleman  coming  up  the  lawn  ;  and  as  he  discov 
ered  him  to  be  a  stranger,  he  at  once  rose  to  receive 
him,  with  the  politeness  peculiar  to  the  well-bred 
Virginian. 

The  stranger  appeared  to  be  a  man  of  five  and  thirty 
years  of  age,  well  dressed,  and  easy  deportment.  As 
he  had  a  prepossessing  appearance,  Mr.  Erskine  was 
glad  to  have  him  as  a  guest,  and  tin-owing  off  all 
restraint,  entered  without  farther  ceremony  into  fa 
miliar  conversation.  After  the  usual  preliminary 
civilities,  he  took  the  liberty  of  inquiring  the  name 
of  his  visitor. 

u  Mr.  Bates,  sir." 

"From  Winchester?" 

"  I  sojourned  there  for  a  few  clays  only." 

"  Ah  !  traveling  at  pleasure,  to  view  the  country, 
I  presume." 

"  Xot  exclusively,  sir,"  replied  the  stranger,  in  a 
tone  which  awakened  the  curiosity  of  Mr.  Erskine. 

'•Business  and  pleasure  combined,  I  take  it,  then," 
quickly  remarked  Mr.  Erskine." 

"Why,  yes  sir.  I  heard  of  your  country-seat,  and 
much  of  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah,"  was  the 
evasive  answer. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  75 

""We  old  residents  think  there  is  no  place  like 
ours,"  said  Mr.  Erskine,  in  a  voice  that  indicated  no 
particular  desire  on  his  part  to  continue  the  acquaint 
ance,  and  deliberately  seated  himself,  coolly  inviting 
the  stranger  to  do  the  same. 

"  You  have  a  delightful  climate  here,  sir,"  said  Mi*. 
Bates,  resuming  the  conversation. 

"  Charming  —  charming,  sir." 

"Your  lands  are  fertile,  I  suspect?" 

"  Bountiful  yields,  and  easy  of  cultivation." 

"The  whites,  I  suppose,  could  not  compete  with 
your  blacks  in  plantation  work,"  said  Mr.  Bates,  with 
the  view  of  flattering  Mr.  Erskine,  so  as  to  remove  the 
coldness  which  he  exhibited,  perhaps  from  a  suspicion 
of  his  motives. 

"  Oh  !  no  sir.  Our  sun  is  too  hot  for  the  American, 
to  labor  in  the  field.  Besides,  it  would  be  degrading — 
degrading,  sir." 

"  Labor,  writh  us  at  the  North,  is  not  regarded  as 
menial." 

"At  the  North,  sir  ["replied  Mr.  Erskine,  with  a 
look  of  surprise ;  "  are  you  from  the  North  ?  " 

"Formerly." 

"And,  pray,  from  what  part  of  the  North,  and  how 
long  since? " 

"  I  am  from  the  land  of  steady  habits,  not  long  since. 
I  was  educated  at  New  Haven,"  he  replied,  with  as 
pleasing  an  air  as  he  could  give  himself. 

"And  you  are  looking  for  some  place,  with  us  at 
the  South,  to  make  your  home,  perhaps  profession 
ally  ? " 


LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OK 

"  Since  my  graduation  at  college,  I  Lave  devoted 
my  attention,  principally,  to  the  duties  of  some  acad 
emy.  And,  tired  of  teaching  a  mixed  multitude  of 
pupils,  I  have  withdrawn  from  the  Winchester  school, 
and  propose  to  recreate  my  faculties  in  giving  instruc 
tion  in  some  private  family,  where  the  service  will  be 
mutually  advantageous." 

"Ah!  a  commendable  calling,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine,  beginning  to  regard  Mr.  Bates  with  more  com 
placency.  u  Our  schools  in  this  region,  likely,  are  not 
as  common  as  with  you  at  the  .North,  although  we 
take  pains  to  educate  our  children  in  the  rudiments  of 
the  language,  and  then  frequently  send  them  away  to 
the  academies  you  mention." 

"It  is  a  question  with  me,  whether  private  instruc 
tion  is  not  the  most  useful  and  the  best.  Too  much 
folly  is  sometimes  prevalent  at  the  public  school,  and 
too  much  roguery  acquired  fur  the  good  of  the  pupil 
in  after  life." 

These  sentiments  accorded  so  well  with  those  enter 
tained  by  Mr.  Erskine,  that  he  began  to  consider  Mr. 
Bates  a  man  of  sense  as  well  as  education,  and  with 
much  suavity  of  manner  remarked,  "I  perceive,  Mr. 
Bates,  you  have  a  horse  standing  in  the  road.  If 
agreeable,  I  will  be  happy  to  have  you  tarry  with  me, 
at  least  until  to-morrow- ;  and  so  I  will  send  Pumpey 
to  take  care  of  your  beast." 

Mr.  Bates  accepted  this  polite  invitation,  of  course, 
without  hesitancy,  as  lie  was  desirous  of  becomin^ 
tutor  to  the  family  of  his  host;  and  as  he  did  not  dine 
at  Millwood,  Mr.  Erskine  ordered  Lucinda,  an  old 


TJKCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  77 

kitchen  servant,  to  serve  the  guest  with  a  cold  colla 
tion.  The  repast  over,  the  stranger  took  a  stroll  over 
the  plantation  with  its  proprietor,  and  was  pleased 
with  the  attention  paid  to  him.  All  things  consid 
ered —  the  neatness  of  the  buildings,  the  fertility  of 
the  soil,  as  indicated  by  the  large,  wavy  blades  of 
grass  and  corn,  as  they  undulated  in  the  gentle  breeze 
which  fanned  the  valley,  and  the  magnificent  scenery 
of  hill  and  woodland  that  lay  in  the  distance  —  Mr. 
Bates  considered  this  country-seat  as  little  superior  to 
any  his  eyes  ever  beheld.  And  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  effect  an  engagement,  if  possible,  extending  into 
the  succeeding  year. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast,  he  opened  his 
budget  to  Mr.  Erskine  in  good  earnest.  He  had  been 
at  much  pains  to  impress  the  planter  with  the  idea 
that  he  was  not  only  a  man  of  accomplishment  and 
erudition,  but  had  an  abundance  of  experience  in 
school-teaching.  And  his  efforts  were  not  ineffectual 
in  at  least  obtaining  the  friendly  opinion  and  regard 
of  the  planter  in  his  favor,  as  a  gentleman,  if  not  as  a 
man  of  learning.  Accordingly,  in  the  morning  he 
produced  for  the  perusal  of  the  planter,  sundry  letters 
of  introduction,  highly  complimentary  in  terms,  and 
some  of  them  bearing  a  very  old  date.  As  the  names 
of  the  writers  were  not  familiar  to  the  planter,  with 
the  exception  of  one  from  a  gentleman  at  "Winchester, 
they  were  not  as  influential  as  desired.  Determined 
not  to  be  disappointed  in  his  application,  Mr.  Bates 
handed  to  Mr.  Erskine  a  long  and  wide-folded  paper, 
somewhat  soiled  from  wear,  and  smilingly  remarked, 


78  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  That  he  had  carried  that  document  for  many  a  year, 
and  considered  its  price  above  value." 

"Ah!  what  have  you  here?  It  has  the  broad  seal 
of  the  state  attached  !  Ah  !  you  have  held  some  high 
position  in  the  state,  I  presume,"  said  Mr.  Erskine, 
and  proceeded  to  unfold  it. 

"  Be  pleased  to  peruse  the  document,  sir."  And 
the  planter  was  pleased  to  do  so,  but  found  his  attempts 
unavailing,  for  the  language,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  was 
everything  but  English.  After  examining  it  atten 
tively  for  a  moment,  he  exclaimed,  with  some  vexation 
at  his  ignorance, 

"Sir,  you  are  too  much  for  me.  I  have  never  been 
beyond  my  own  tongue.  This  is  absolutely  heathen, 
or  I  am  no  judge." 

"  Oh !  sir,  it  is  written  in  what  we  call  the  dead 
languages,"  replied  Mr.  Bates,  in  a  very  bland  tone. 

"  Ah  !  the  dead  languages  !  Ah  !  yes,  I  have  heard 
of  them  ;  but  this  is  the  first  sight  I  have  had  of  them. 
Pray  excuse  me;  I  am  afraid  I  should  detain  you  too 
long,  if  I  undertake  to  peruse  the  document,"  said  Mr. 
Erskine,  handing  back  the  document. 

"  You  certainly  have  heard  of  the  dead  languages? " 
said  Mr.  Bates,  uncertain  whether  he  was  feigning 
ignorance ;  "You  must  have,  before  this,  in  your 
younger  days,  certainly  have  seen  the  dead  languages." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  acquainted  with  the  Latin  ;  I  have  occa 
sionally  seen  words  said  to  be  in  that  tongue,  and  I 
believe  I  have  seen  what  you  learned  men  call  the 
Greek,  but  nothing  like  this.  I  think  there  must  be 
some  mistake." 


79 

"  Ah  !  I  perceive  the  difficulty.  This  document  is 
in  the  Hebrew  partly,  and  partly,  if  you  will  look  at 
it  again,  in  the  Latin.  It  is  a  diploma  received  at  one 
of  our  theological  seminaries  at  the  North." 

Mr.  Erskine  took  it  again,  and  upon  further  examin 
ation,  discovered  some  words  composed  of  English 
letters. 

"  And  here,  sir,  is  another  parchment,  if  you  will 
examine  it,  conferring  the  degree  of  Master  of  Arts," 
said  Mr.  Bates,  offering  to  give  it  to  Mr.  Erskine; 
"this,  sir,  is  all  Latin." 

"  Oh  !  I  am  perfectly  satisfied,  Mr.  Bates,  that  you 
are  a  man  of  sufficient  knowledge  to  teach  my  chil 
dren.  I  will  dismiss  any  further  examination  on  that 
head,"  said  Mr.  Erskine,  and  delivered  the  Hebrew 
diploma  back  to  him. 

"  Then  as  to  the  terms  of  my  hire,"  added  the  school 
master. 

"  Ah  !  yes,  I  had  forgotten  that  subject.  Propose 
your  price  and  time." 

"I  suppose  four  hundred  dollars,  and  one  year, 
would  be  acceptable." 

"I  think  your  instruction  may  be  worth  that;  but, 
stop;  it  is  not  simply  my  own  children,  but  I  wish 
some  attention  to  be  paid  at  the  quarters.  To  tell  you 
the  truth,  I  have  been  thinking  for  some  time  of  giving 
my  blacks  some  of  the  rudiments  of  education." 

The  schoolmaster  expressed  his  surprise. 

u  Oli !  but  if  you  will  only  consider  the  point,  Mr. 
Bates.  It  has  occurred  to  me,  that  their  service  would 
be  more  valuable  to  me.  And  they  are  apt  to  learn. 


80  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

They  have  brains,  and  I  am  as  much  entitled  to  use 
them  as  I  have  the  body.  At  the  same  time,  it  would 
be  doing  them  a  kindness.  What  think  you  of  this 
proposition  ? " 

"Favorably,  sir  —  favorably,"  replied  Mr.  Bates, 
although  he  did  not  relish  the  idea  of  undertaking  the 
job  of  instruction  himself. 

""Well,  sir,  your  terms,  with  this  service  included, 
will  be  satisfactory." 

"I  think,"  rejoined  the  schoolmaster,  "upon  reflec 
tion,  that  I  must  vary  the  price,  as,  with  two  schools 
on  my  hands,  I  shall  not  have  much  time  for  recreation 
or  repose." 

"  You  can  name  your  own  hours  for  school,  and  take 
your  own  holidays,"  remarked  Mr.  Erskine. 

"Arn  I  to  understand  that  instruction  is  to  be  given 
to  the  old  as  well  as  the  young  ? '' 

"Simply  the  young.  The  old  ones  are  too  old  to 
learn  much,  I  presume.  They  know  something,  I  be 
lieve,  now.  But  it  is  difficult  to  learn  an  old  African 
anything  but  labor  and  fun,  and  mine  are  adepts  in 
that  learning,  now,"  replied  Mr.  Erskine,  laughingly. 

"I  will  say  five  —  well,  I  will  take  six  hundred  and 
close  the  arrangement  at  that." 

"Agreed,"  quickly  answered  Mr.  Erskine,  fearful 
that  the  longer  he  delayed,  the  higher  would  be  the 
price.  Mr.  Bates  again  expressed  his  acquiescence, 
and  the  services  of  the  schoolmaster  were  engaged. 

It  was  necessary  for  Mr.  Bates  to  return  to  Win 
chester,  for  his  books  and  clothes,  before  he  entered 
upon  his  duties.  And  it  was  arranged  that  Fompey 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  81 

should  accompany  him,  but  as  it  was  near  noon,  the 
journey  was  postponed  until  the  next  day.  In  the 
meantime,  Mr.  Erskine  was  attentive  to  the  school 
master,  treating  him  as  a  guest.  After  dinner,  he 
proposed  that  they  go  to  the  river  and  fish,  for  amuse 
ment.  The  proposition  was  agreeable,  and  with  angle 
and  line,  they  proceeded  up  the  bank  of  the  river 
some  distance.  Pickerel,  or  as  there  called  "  pike," 
was  the  kind  of  fish  which  they  caught,  although 
occasionally  a  bullhead  came  up  with  the  hook.  They 
angled  until  the  sun  had  descended  behind  the  Alle- 
ghanies ;  and  so  great  had  been  their  success,  that  the 
load  was  inconvenient  for  Pompey  to  carry. 

"  Massa,  shall  I  take  urn  all  home,"  said  he,  "  or 
dump  urn  in  the  water,  to  fish  um  next  time. 

"Xever  mind,  Pompey.  One  stick  will  be  enough," 
said  his  master,  and  he  proceeded  to  unloose  them, 
one  by  one,  and  drop  them  into  the  river. 

The  question  and  answer  attracted  the  notice  of  Jeff, 
who  was  in  the  lane,  not  far  off,  driving  up  the  cows 
to  the  milk-yard.  He  could  see  the  master,  but  not 
the  slave,  and  so  he  climbed  the  fence,  and  on  the  top 
most  rail,  singing 

"Sittin'  on  a  rail, 
Sittin'  on  a  rail," 

he  stretched  his  eyes  hard,  to  get  a  glimpse.  As  he 
expected,  it  was  Pompey,  who  seemed  to  be  dropping 
something  into  the  river,  but  what,  was  indistinct  to 
his  vision. 

"Pompey  —  Pompey!     Lor'  de  massa!   wha'  you 


82  LIFE   AT    THE   SOUTH  ;    OH 

'bout  dar?"  lie  shouted.  Pompey  did  not  pay  him 
any  attention,  but  soon  riddled  the_pike  from  the  stick, 
and  started  for  the  mansion. 

Jeff  saw  the  stranger,  and  was  curious  to  know  who 
he  was.  And  as  Pompey  paid  no  attention  to  his 
outcry,  he  jumped  from  the  fence,  and  running  down 
the  lane,  reached  the  foot  of  it  just  as  Pompey  came 
along. 

"  Wha'  the  matter,  Pompey,  dat  you  no  longer  dis 
course  with  dis  nigger?  I  hollars  to  you,  an'  you'd 
pay  no  heed  ;  I  'spects  you  am  gittin'  'bove  your  legs," 
said  Jeff,  as  if  quite  angry. 

"Wha'  dat  you  say !"  exclaimed  Pompey.  rolling 
up  the  white  of  his  right  eye,  as  if  it  meant  something. 
"  I'm  'bove  you,"  shaking  his  head,  "I  is  no  company 
for  such  niggers." 

"  Ki,  Pompey,  enty  you  guine  to  be  nigger  no  more?" 

"  I'se  no  nigger  to  you.  Go  an'  drive  your  cows,  and 
ax  no  more  questions,"  said  Pompey,  and  walked  on. 

"Well,  den,  I  'spects  de  next  ting  will  be  Pompey 
wid  de  ivory  cane,  and  inassa  wid  de  banjo,"  said  Jeff, 
and  was  upon  the  point  of  turning  back,  when  he 
recollected  his  errand  there. 

"I  say,  Pompey,  who  is  dat  new  comer  dar  wid 
inassa?"  Pompey  paid  no  attention  to  Jeff's  ques 
tion,  lie  reiterated  the  question,  and  again  received 
no  reply.  Vexed  at  this  incivility,  he  muttered,  as  he 
turned  upon  his  heels,  "Well,  go  an'  be  white  man; 
I  '11  be  nigger  still.  His  complexion  changes  ;  dis  ole 
nigger's  do  irt.  Dar,  put  dat  in  your  chaw-tobaccy, 
an'  keep  um  dar." 


Lucinda  broiled  a  dish  of  pickerel  for  supper,  and 
Mr.  Bates  declared  that  its  flavor  surpassed  any  that 
he  ever  eat.  Mr.  Erskine  waived  tea,  and  substituted 
cogniac.  Fond  of  hearing  stories,  he  was  equally  fond 
of  telling  them  ;  and  lie  delighted  his  guest  with  the 
account  of  many  exploits  in  fishing  and  gaming,  to  a 
late  hour.  The  schoolmaster  concluded  that  he  had 
made  an  engagement  which  it  would  be  pleasant  to 
fulfill. 


LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 


CHAPTER  VI. 

FAMILY   OF   THE  PLANTER . 

All  people  went 
Upon  their  ten  toes  in  wild  wonderment, 

BISHOP  HALL. 

Pompey  was  dressed  and  astir  at  an  early  hour  the 
next  morning,  for  the  jaunt  to  Winchester  was  his  last 
thought  before  he  fell  asleep.  Several  years  had  passed 
since  he  enjoyed  the  pleasure  of  a  visit  there ;  and, 
although,  as  well  may  be  supposed  by  the  reader,  he 
had  not  been  much  of  a  traveler  in  his  day,  yet,  the 
trip  to  Washington  "whetted  his  appetite"  for  sight 
seeing,  if  we  may  adopt  an  homely  phrase,  and  lie 
anticipated  much  amusement.  lie  gave  express  direc 
tions  to  his  wife  Luciiida,  the  night  previous,  not  to 
oversleep  herself,  and  on  no  account  to  omit  waking 
him  the  moment  she  opened  her  eyes.  The  precaution 
turned  out  to  be  unnecessary,  for  "  she  did  not  sleep  a 
wink,"  so  great  was  her  desire  for  Pompey  to  go.  lie 
was  as  fond  of  story,  telling  as  his  master:  and  he  had, 
for  the  last  six  weeks,  entertained  his  cara  sposa  by 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  85 

the  hour,  with  the  many  incidents  which  occurred  in 
his  last  journey  ;  insomuch  that  some  had  been  twice 
and  thrice  told,  and  were  becoming  somewhat  uninter 
esting  to  listen  to.  It  is  not  to  be  inferred,  however, 
that  Lucinda  liked  to  hear  Pompey  any  the  less  for 
that :  her  ears  were  never  known  to  be  closed  when  his 
voice  knocked  for  admittance.  Yet  she  thought  he 
would  have  something  new  to  relate  on  his  return,  and 
this  of  itself,  aside  from  any  enjoyment  which  the  ride 
might  afford  to  him,  was  a  sufficient  inducement  to 
comply  with  his  earnestly  expressed  wish.  She  was 
expeditious  in  her  movements,  and  the  breakfast  being 
served  earlier  than  usual,  Mr.  Bates  and  Pompey  were 
on  the  road  with  their  faces  to  the  north,  in  good  time. 
As  Mr.  Bates  preferred  it,  he  returned  on  horseback, 
and  Pompey  had  his  vehicle  all  to  himself.  At -first, 
Mr.  Bates  rode  ahead  ;  but  Pompey  was  so  much  in 
terested  with  what  he  saw  along  the  highway,  that  he 
insensibly  loitered  —  at  least  this  is  the  most  charitable 
view  to  take  —  and  Mr.  Bates  waiving  precedence, 
which  was  just  as  agreeable  to  Pompey,  dropped  be 
hind,  and  by  occasional  promptings  to  his  companion, 
hastened  the  speed  of  the  vehicle,  and  ever  and  anon 
entered  into  conversation  with  its  sable  driver.  We 
will  not  follow  them,  but  will  go  back  with  the  reader 
to  the  mansion. 

Our  narrative  has  not  as  yet  disclosed  the  number 
of  Mr.  Erskine's  family,  nor  their  relations  to  each 
other.  It  may  as  well  be  stated  now,  as  at  any  other 
time,  that  Mrs.  Erskine  departed  this  life  several  years 
befove  the  time  of  which  we  write ;  and  such  was  the 


86  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OK 

respect  and  love  of  the  husband  for  the  memory  of  the 
dead,  that  he  remained  a  widower.  She  left  three 
children  to  mourn  her  loss  —  two  sons  and  a  daughter, 
who  wras  the  eldest  of  the  three,  being  in  her  eight 
eenth  year.  Of  a  gentle  disposition,  and  easy,  quiet 
manners,  the  daughter  found  admirers  in  all  her  ac 
quaintances.  Her  accomplishments  were  not  so  very 
extraordinary  as  to  dazzle  or  bewilder  the  imagination, 
but  her  breeding  was  that  of  a  lady,  in  its  ordinary 
signification;  and  the  amenity  of  her  mind  united 
to  the  goodness  of  a  heart  overflowing  with  the  milk 
of  human  kindness,  attracted  the  notice,  and  won  the 
admiration  of  all  whom  chance  threw  in  her  pathway. 
For  the  last  few  years,  she  had  been  absent  from  the 
plantation  in  attendance  upon  the  schools,  and  hud 
now  returned  to  her  home,  to  delight  her  father  and 
enliven  his  hospitality.  The  two  brothers  contributed 
their  efforts  to  make  life  agreeable ;  one  of  whom  was 
her  junior  some  three  years,  and  the  other  under  the 
age  of  ten.  It  was  for  the  purpose  of  imparting  in 
struction  to  these  boys,  that  Mr.  Erskine  employed,  in 
part,  the  services  of  the  schoolmaster. 

Not  inured  to  heavy  labor,  nor  to  any  steady  labor, 
as  is  the  custom  in  other  climes  with  youth  similarly 
situated,  their  leisure  for  amusement  was  unlimited  ; 
and  the  greater  was  the  necessity,  therefore,  to  employ 
their  minds  in  acquiring  information  that  might  be 
useful  in  after  life.  The  return  of  their  sister  from  the 
ladies  seminary,  gave  a  new  feature  to  the  family  cir 
cle  at  the  mansion,  and  dispelled  the  monotony  that 
had  prevailed  there  for  a  long  time.  She  reached 
I 


87 

home  only  a  short  time  prior  to  the  visit  of  Mr.  Bates, 
and  her  brothers  had  not  yet  exhausted  their  constantly 
recurring  schemes  of  diversion  and  pleasure.  Mr.  Ers 
kine  was  delighted  with  their  pastimes,  and  readily 
concurred  in  whatever  was  proposed. 

The  day  that  Fompey  accompanied  the  schoolmaster 
to  Winchester,  they  had  planned  an  excursion  among 
the  hills  of  the  Blue  Ridge,  as  well  for  sport  as  to 
refresh  themselves  from  the  oppressively  hot  weather; 
and  as  Pompey  was  necessarily  engaged  elsewhere, 
they  took  Jeff  and  his  fiddle  in  place  of  him.  Like 
many  gentlemen  at  the  South,  Mr.  Erskine  possessed 
a  fine  stud,  and  among  them  was  a  well-trained  but. 
gay  pacer,  which  he  determined  to  keep  for  the  special 
use  of  Mary,  his  daughter.  This  wras  the  first  time 
she  had  the  pleasure  of  mounting  the  pony.  Accus 
tomed,  however,  to  ride  on  horseback,  she  easily  man 
aged  him,  and  made  a  graceful  appearance.  Mr. 
Erskine  joined  his  children  in  the  excursion,  and  away 
they  rode  over  the  meadow  and  across  the  river,  and 
soon  were  among  the  hills.  Jeff  had  a  long  spur,  tied 
to  the  heel  of  his  right  foot,  for  it  was  too  warm  to 
wear  shoes,  and  with  the  aid  of  its  propelling  power, 
he  was  enabled  to  keep  his  old  gray  mare  within  hail 
ing  distance  of  the  party.  After  awhile,  the  party 
turned  into  a  narrow  by-path,  hardly  passable,  in  con 
sequence  of  the  low  limbs  of  the  trees  that  skirted  the 
path  on  each  side.  Besides,  it  was  winding,  and  Jeff 
soon  lost  sight  of  his  master  and  the  children.  The 
old  mare  was  unaccustomed  to  the  speed  with  which 
she  had  been  forced  to  travel  thus  far,  and  becoming 


88  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

jaded,  by  this  over-exertion,  quicker  than  usual,  sho 
availed  herself  of  these  impediments  in  the  path  to 
slacken  her  gait.  This,  together  with  the  boughs 
against  which  his  head  was  constantly  thumping,  was 
too  much  for  the  equanimity  of  Jeff's  temperament, 
and  he  began  to  rail  at  his  beast,  and  curse  Pompey 
for  getting  him  into  so  bad  a  scrape.  The  party  rode 
on  until  they  reached  an  opening  in  the  forest  near  the 
head-springs  of  some  tiny  rivulet,  which  increases  in 
volume  as  it  flows  toward  the  valley  below,  until  it 
assumes  the  form  of  a  creek,  long  before  it  unites  with 
the  waters  of  the  Shenandoah.  They  halted  and  dis 
mounted,  expecting  Jeff  would  presently  heave  in 
sight.  He  did  not  make  his  appearance,  and  fearful 
that  some  accident  might  have  befallen  him,  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine  requested  Frederick,  his  eldest  son,  to  return  and 
ascertain  the  cause  of  the  delay. 

After  returnins:  some  distance — and  it  seemed  longer 

<D  CT1 

than  before  —  he  all  at  once  heard  music,  like  that  of 
the  violin,  as  it  echoed  in  the  woods.  He  could  not 
believe  it  came  from  Jeff's  riddle,  for  then  he  must  be 
loitering,  which  he  would  hardly  presume  to  do.  But 
as  the  strain  evidently  came  from  some  point  ahead, 
and  in  the  vicinity  of  the  path,  Frederick  went  for 
ward  ;  and  the  music  became  more  and  more  distinct, 
until  he  heard  Jeff's  voice  keeping  time  to  a  favorite 
tune,  with  the  words  — 

"Good  bye,  old  Peter  Story, 
Stone  dead,  an'  gone  to  glory, 
Look  out  I 's  dar  before  you," 


89 

"Why.  Jeff,  this  will  never  do,"  said  Frederick  as 
he  rode  down  the  path.  The  old  mare  was  browsing, 
and  Jeff  was  sitting  on  a  rock  hard  by,  amusing  him 
self,  sure  enough,  with  his  old  fiddle.  We  took  you  to 
amuse  us  and  not  yourself,  you  black  scamp.  What 
do  you  stop  here,  for?" 

"Dar,  rail  away,  massa  Fredy,  rail  away.  Keber 
ask  for  cause ! "  replied  Jeff  looking  up,  without  be 
ing  in  the  least  disturbed,  and  sawing  away  at  his 
fiddle. 

"Come,  come,  sir:  you  will  be  punished  for  this. 
You  had  better  sling  up  that  fiddle  of  yours,  and  start 
on  the  mare  in  less  than  no  time,  if  you  mean  to  get 
out  with  a  whole  skin,"  rejoined  Frederick. 

"  Xow,  massa  Fredy,  do  n't  be  in  sich  a  hurry. 
Plenty  of  time,  an'  Pompey  is  not  half  way  to  AVin- 
chester." 

"  I  should  like  to  know  what  Pompey  has  to  do  with 
this  laziness  of  yours.  Come,  come  —  move  yourself 
from  the  rock,  and  mount  the  mare." 

"  ]NTow,  massa  Fredy,  jist  you  hold  up,  and  I  will 
'splain  de  cause  to  you.  Neber  go  off  'fore  you're 
loaded,"  said  Jeff  with  perfect  composure,  and  retain 
ing  his  seat.  Frederick  saw  it  was  of  no  use  to  hurry 
the  slave,  and  believing  that  if  he  allowed  Jeff  to  take 
his  own  way,  it  would  be  the  shortest,  replied,  "  Well, 
explain  the  trouble,"  and  dropped  the  reins  of  the 
bridle  upon  the  neck  of  his  horse. 

"  Well,  den,  massa  Fredy,  you  must  know,  we  come 
with  a  terrible  gallop,  an'  the  old  mare  wras  bery  tired 
before  we  got  to  dis  path.  Den  dis  path  was  so  snaky 


90  LIFI-:  AT  THE  SOUTH;  OR 

dat  it  was  difficult  to  see  great  ways,  an'  she  lost  track 
ob  de  oder  bosses  ;  air  she  concluded  dat  they  had  bid 
good  bye  to  her." 

"You  should  have  put  spur  to  her." 

"Sa!" 

"You  should  have  spurred  her  right  lustily." 

"  An'  if  I  did  'nt,  massa  Fredy,  den  call  dis  nigger 
a  lazy  coot.  Look  at  her  side,  it  bleeds  now." 

Frederick  cast  his  eye  toward  the  mare,  and  the 
right  side  of  her  belly  did  look  as  though  Jeff  had 
labored  hard  to  spur  her  forward. 

"Well,  Jeff,  I  reckon  that  she  is  now  rested.  Sup 
posing  that  you  give  her  another  trial.  The  music  has 
refreshed  you,  I  presume." 

"Why,  massa  Fredy,  you  ax'd  me  to  take  pleasure 
jaunt  wid  you.  I  'm  contented  whar  I  am  ;  and  I 
'spects,  from  de  way  de  ole  mare  whisks  her  tail,  dat 
she  is  too,"  replied  Jeff,  disinclined  to  change  his 
position. 

"  You  must  make  another  effort,  and  speedily ;  or 
else  you  may  expect  the  overseer  to  wait  upon  you 
this  evening." 

"  I  always  do  as  I  agreed,  massa  Fredy.  An'  I 
agreed  to  take  pleasure  trip  wid  you,  an'  if  dis  far  is 
'nuff  for  me,  why  do  you  want  me  to  go  farder.  If  I 
don't  look  out,  I  shall  go  so  far  dat  I  neber  shall  want 
to  take  anoder :  an'  'specially,  I  shall  not  be  able,  if  I 
keeps  bumping  dis  head  aginst  de  ole  limbs.  Its  eny- 
most  a  jelly  now." 

"Then  I  shall  return  to  the  opening,  and  inform  my 
father  that  you  decline  to  do  as  he  bids  you,  shall  I? " 


91 

said  Frederick,  and  turning  the  head  of  his  horse  to 
start  up  the  path. 

"  Hold  your  hoss  !  "  exclaimed  Jeff. 

"Well,  sir,  say  on." 

"  Jist  tell  massa  dat  I  do  n't  like  my  eggs  over 
fresh." 

"  Do  n't  like  eggs  over  fresJi !  Pray,  what  has  that 
to  do  with  your  obstinacy  ? "  replied  Frederick,  at  a 
loss  to  understand  what  Jeff  was  driving  at. 

"  Why,  it  is  the  butt  of  a  story  I  am  guine  to  tell 
you,  if  you  was  not  in  sich  an  unconscionable  hurry." 

"  Oh  !  get  out  with  your  miserable  nonsense,"  an 
swered  Frederick,  vexed  at  the  slave's  incivility. 

"Well  den,  jist  as  you  say,  massa  Fredy,  'bout  dat. 
But  if  you  '11  hold  your  hoss,  I  will  told  you  de  hull 
of  dat  story." 

"  Very  good,  Jeff.     Talk  fast,  and  I  will  hear  it." 

"Well  den,  massa  Fredy,  yon  must  know,  once 
upon  a  time,  a  massT  thought  a  good  deal  of  his 
servant,  an'  he  invited  him  to  breakfast  wid  him." 

"What  a  lie!" 

"Dat's  true,  massa  Fredy,  but  don't  trouble  my 
story.  An'  when  rnass'r  an'  servant  set  down  to  de 
table,  mass'r  was  bery  perlite,  an'  he  ask'd  de  servant 
to  help  himself  to  a  boil'd  egg.  Sambo  took  a  look  in 
de  dish,  an'  he  helped  himself.  As  he  was  'bout  to 
break  it,  mass'r  look'd  at  um,  an'  said  it  was  not  good  ; 
it  made  no  difference,  an'  Sambo  broke  um,  and  was 
eating,  when  mass'r  said,  cBah  !  Sambo,  do  n't  eat  dat ; 
flavor  is  bad — bah  !  it  stinks!'  an'  offer'd  de  servant 
anoder.  Sambo  declined.  'Wha'  dat?'  said  mass'r. 


92  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

'  I  do  n't  care  'bout  my  eggs  being  over  fresh  ! '  replied 
Sambo,  and  continued  to  eat." 

u  What  a  dirty  pig  !  "  remarked  Frederick. 

"You  don't  see  de  point,  massa  Fredy?  Mass'r 
thought  dat  Sambo  was  economical,  and  would  save 
lost  penny,  an'  he  made  Sambo  his  overseer;  jist  wha' 
he  wanted  when  he  eat  massVs  e<re." 

r^c 

"  Fool !  do  yon  suppose  that  your  mass'r  will  make 
yon  overseer,  Jeff?" 

"Xo,  no,  massa  Fredy ;  but  perhaps  he  will  be  sat 
isfied  if  I  do  n't  wish  to  take  a  longer  trip  of  pleasure 
dis  time;"  and  Frederick,  disgusted  with  Jeff's  folly, 
rode  up  the  path,  leaving  him  and  the  old  marc  where 
he  found  them.  He  came  up  with  the  party  a  short 
distance  beyond  the  opening,  and  communicated  to 
his  father  the  reason  of  Jeff's  delay.  They  ascended 
the  hills  until  they  reached  the  summit  of  one  higher 
than  the  others ;  and  there  they  paused  to  view  the 
hills  and  the  valleys  below,  Away  in  the  distance 
could  be  seen,  with  the  naked  eye,  Millwood' — -"the 
loveliest  village  of  the  plain" — and  still  farther  on, 
with  the  aid  of  her  father's  spy -glass,  Mary  could 
plainly  discern  the  steeples  of  Winchester  glittering 
in  an  effulgent  sun.  She  was  enraptured  with  the 
expanding  prospect ;  and,  dismounting  from  her  pony, 
she  took  a  seat  in  the  shade  of  a  large  tree  which 
stood  upon  the  very  peak  of  the  summit. 

In  a  few  moments,  Frederick  came  running  up  to 
her,  and  saying,  "  Look  again  through  the  glass,  and 
your  eyes  shall  fall  upon  Mr.  Bates  and  Pompey." 


93 

Mary  did  as  requested,  and  distinctly  saw  them  a 
few  miles  beyond  Millwood,  moving  rapidly  down 
the  road. 

"  It  is  really  them,  Frederick.  Pompey  seems  to 
be  enjoying  a  hearty  laugh,"  she  exclaimed,  delighted 
with  the  view.  "  I  could  sit  here  for  hours  and  hours, 
and  not  tire  of  the  prospect,"  she  added. 

"  How  would  you  like  to  live  here,  Mary  ? "  asked 
Frederick,  jestingly. 

"  I  should  admire  it,  I  have  no  doubt,  as  a  residence." 

"  The  lightning  would  be  sure  to  hit  here,"  said  her 
younger  brother,  who  had  joined  them. 

"  And  when  you  became  satiated  with  the  prospect, 
how  solitary  would  it  be  up  here  among  the  clouds," 
added  her  father. 

"  Perhaps  so ;  but  methinks  that  time  would  never 
occur.  K"ew  scenes  would  constantly  be  moving  before 
my  eyes,  with  new  objects  for  admiration." 

"Your  blood  is  fresh  now,  Mary;  and  your  views 
and  ideas  are  fresh  also.  But  they  would  soon  wear 
off,  and  you  would  wish  yourself  lower  down  in 
the  world,"  rejoined  her  father,  and  Mary  bowed 
assent. 

The  party  gazed  with  silent  wonder;  and  Mary, 
fresh  from  the  groves  of  the  academy,  gave  a  wide 
range  to  her  thoughts ;  and  her  young  imagination, 
bounding  away  from  the  dull  realities  of  reason,  soared 
afar  in  the  realm  of  elysium.  She  heaved  a  sigh,  and 
a  packet  dropped  from  her  bosom.  Frederick  picked 
it  up,  and  was  in  the  act  of  handing  it  to  his  sister, 


94:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

when,  observing  the  caption,  truant-like  he  opened  the 
queer-folded  parcel,  and  began  to  peruse  it.  Mary 
did  not  notice  the  accident. 

"  "What  have  you  there  ?  "  said  the  younger  brother 
to  Frederick,  looking  over  his  shoulder. 

"  For  all  the  world,  a  love-letter  !  " 

"  A  love-letter !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Erskine,  with  some 
surprise.  ""Well,"  he  added,  after  a  minute's  pause, 
"  my  Mary  is  in  the  heyday  of  youth  ;  I  do  n't  know 
that  this  is  wonderful.  But,  Frederick,  you  are  ungal- 
lant,  my  son,  to  read  your  sister's  letters,  and  above 
all,  her  love-notes." 

Frederick  felt  the  force  of  his  father's  remarks,  and 
quickly  folded  the  packet,  to  return  the  same  to  his 
sister. 

"  jS"ever  mind,"  she  said,  now  noticing,  for  the  first 
time,  what  had  happened,  "read  it  aloud ;  it  is  not  all 
sentimentalism"  and  Frederick  again  opened  it,  and 
read  nearly  as  follows: 

Como,  lady-love,  the  flowing  tide 

Returns  to  boar  our  bark  away  ; 
Come,  let  us  o'er  its  bosom  glide, 

And  through  yon  iertile  woodland  stray. 

The  stars  beam  from  their  vaulted  dome, 

And  glitter  in  the  glassy  wave  ; 
The  wandering  night-bird  leaves  her  home, 

And  seeks  the  pebbled  shore  to  lave. 

The  mountain-breeze,  from  off  the  height, 
Surcharged  with  fragrmee  rich  and  free, 

Wafts  ambient  through  the  silent  nii^ht, 
And  spreads  an  incense  o'er  the  sea. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  95 

The  moon-lit  spire  gleams  in  the  air, 

The  green-topped  pine  ascends  in  pride. 

The  arching  cypress  clusters  there, 
And  sweetly  flows  the  evening  tide. 

Come,  clearest,  to  the  pearly  strand, 

Our  bark's  impatient  to  be  gone  ; 
Come,  let  us  to  yon  fairy  land, 

And  sport  upon  its  dewy  lawn. 

We  '11  wander  through  its  spicy  grove, 

Where  grapes  in  clusters  strew  the  ground ; 

Where,  through  the  parting  trees  above, 
The  hallowed  moonbeams  play  around. 

Yes  !  where  the  wild-flowers  thickly  spread 

Their  blushing  petals  to  the  gaze, 
There  we  will  haste  with  lightsome  tread, 

And  follow  through  each  winding  maze. 

Will  watch  the  glorious  orb  of  night, 
That  upward  mounts  the  spacious  sky 

The  twinkling  stars  that  shed  their  light, 
And  shine  refulgent  from  on  high. 

And  when  we  see  them  each  depart, 

Amid  the  hills  that  crown  the  west, 
I  '11  clasp  thee,  dearest,  to  my  heart, 

And  one  fond  kiss  shall  seal  our  rest. 

Come,  lady-love,  the  swelling  gale 

Floats  onward  with  that  rising  star ; 
Come,  let  us  up  yon  distant  vale, 

And  o'er  the  bright  blue  lake  afar. 

"Elegant,  elegantly  clone!"  exclaimed  Mr.  Erskine, 
clapping  liis  Lands  with  approbation,  "  but  rather 
lengthy." 


96  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  The  more  so,  the  better,  with  us  girls,  dear  father." 

"It  is  very  well,  Mary.  If  you  get  no  worse  non 
sense  than  that,  you  will  be  fortunate." 

"  Nonsense  !  how  can  you  call  it  by  that  name,  dear 
father?  "  replied  the  daughter,  blushing,  and  vexed  at 
this  harsh  criticism. 

"  Oh  !  never  mind,  Mary,-'  said  Frederick,  coming 
to  her  relief,  "  father's  days  of  love  ditties  are  over." 

"  Yes,"  said  Mary. 

"  And  let  me  add,  Mary,"  observed  her  father, 
"  that  the  older  you  become,  the  more  will  you  find 
that  there  is  a  limit  to  all  human  felicity;  that  all 
pleasures  are  like  poppies,  we  seize  the  flower,  and 
find  its  bloom  is  fled." 

"  Or  like  the  snow-falls  on  tlie  Shenandoali, 
A  moment  they  are  white,  then  gone  forever," 

Mary  replied. 

"Ah!  yes,  sensible,  very  sensible,"  said  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine,  and  intimated  to  his  children  the  propriety  of 
turning  their  faces  homeward. 

This  suggestion  was  adopted,  and   remounting  the 

£^O  X  7  £3 

horses,  the  party  sauntered  down  the  mountain,  amus 
ing  themselves  with  the  many  little  incidents  and  wild 
scenes  that  fell  upon  their  observation. 

"We  must  hasten  our  speed,"  said  Mr.  Erskine,  as 
they  again  reached  the  opening  by  the  springs,  "  or 
we  may  be  caught  in  the  storm  which  is  evidently 
gathering  in  the  southwest." 

"That  would  be  delightful,"  said  Mary,  "for  I  have 
never  been  in  the  forest  in  a  thunderstorm;  let  it 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  97 

come  !  "  and  she  tapped  her  pony  with  the  riding  whip, 
and  rode  on  with  a  more  rapid  pace. 

Mr.  Erskine  soon  espied  the  gray  mare  ahead,  near 
the  path,  and  drawing  the  reins  of  the  bridle  tighter, 
-galloped  his  horse  forward,  to  arouse  Jeff,  so  that 
there  might  be  no  unnecessary  delay. 

"  Ki,  massa,  I's  jist  gtiine  to  get  up  the  ole  mare, 
as  I  hearn  you  coming,"  said  the  black,  rubbing 
his  eyes. 

u  Have  you  been  asleep  all  this  while,  you  black 
dog?  "  inquired  his  master. 

"  Only  jist  taken  a  nap,  massa !  " 

"  A  nap  !  why,  you  scamp,  it  is  now  in  the  middle 
of  the  afternoon.  Come,  hurry  !  Make  amends  now, 
by  your  haste,  or  we  will  leave  you  to  the  wolf  and 
panther." 

Jeff  did  not  relish  this  idea,  and  jerked  his  beast 
into  the  path. 

"  Into  the  stirrups  quick,  you  black  rascal,  and  keep 
your  distance,  dead  or  alive." 

Jeff  began  to  tremble,  for  by  this  time  the  party 
had  passed  by  him,  and  were  out  of  his  sight,  although 
he  still  heard  the  rustling  of  the  dead  leaves,  as  the 
hoofs  of  the  horses  scattered  them  from  the  path.  He 
coaxed  the  old  mare  to  quicken  her  trot,  and  at  the 
same  time  roweled  her  with  the  spur.  All  of  a  sud 
den,  "  it  grew  dark,"  and  he  thought  it  was  nearer 
night  than  his  master  pretended  the  hour  to  be.  If  he 
should  be  caught  in  that  wood,  now  fast  becoming  dis 
mal  to  him,  after  nightfall,  what  would  become  of  him! 
he  thought  to  himself,  and  he  plied  the  spur  quicker 


98  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

and  Larder  than  before.  The  old  mare  was  disposed 
to  demur  to  this  treatment,  and  commenced  kicking 
up  her  hind  legs ;  so  much  so,  that  it  was  with  great 
difficulty  that  Jeff  could  retain  his  seat  in  the  saddle. 

u  Wha'  de  matter  wid  you,  you  ole  critter?  git  out 
of  your  tracks,  or  I  -11  murder  you  alive  !  so  git  up," 
he  said,  giving  her  belly  another  punch  with  the  spur. 
The  beast  shook  her  head,  and  stopped  her  gait,  began 
to  kick  faster  and  wider  of  the  mark  than  ever. 

"It's   all    day  wid  dis  nicker!  o-osh    dam  de  lazy 

«/  O  J 

critter!"  exclaimed  Jeff,  in  despair,  and  dismounted, 
with  the  intention  of  leading  her  with  the  bridle.  He 
hardly  touched  the  ground,  before  a  sharp  streak  of 
lightning  Hashed  in  his  face,  fairly  dazzling  his  eyes 
with  its  intense  brightness,  succeeded,  as  quick  as 
thought,  by  a  terrific  peal  of  thunder.  Jeff's  teeth 
chattered,  and  his  knees  knocked  together,  worse  than 
when  he  was  hunting  for  Uncle  Tom's  body.  Large 
drops  of  water  began  to  fall  from  the  cloud,  which 
appeared  almost  to  rest  upon  the  tops  of  the  trees,  and 
the  rain  soon  came  down  in  torrents.  The  lightning 
continued  to  flash,  and  the  thunder  as  often  crackled, 
terminating  in  a  loud,  heavy  roar,  which  made  the 
earth  itself  tremble.  Jeff's  religious  views  were  called 
into  requisition,  and  he  prayed  for  forgiveness,  and 
begged  for  mercy,  from  the  unseen  God  who  controlled 
the  elements. 

Mr.  Erskine  and  his  children  reached  the  valley 
before  the  shower  overtook  them,  and  "  reined  up " 
under  a  shed  which  fortunately  was  near,  when  the 
cloud  commenced  flooding  the  ground  with  its  water. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  99 

"  In  good  time !  we  have  just  saved  our  distance. 
We  will  take  our  chances  here,"  said  he. 

"The  tall  trees  on  the  mountain  will  divert  the 
lightning  from  us,"  said  Frederick. 

"  Ah  !  yes  ;  but  who  knows  what  will  be  the  fate  of 
Jeff  and  the  poor  old  mare ! "  replied  Mary,  in  the 
goodness  of  her  heart. 

"Good  enough  for  him,"  said  Frederick.  "It  will 
cure  him  of  his  laziness  and  foolery. 

"  I  should  dislike  to  lose  him,"  remarked  the  master. 
"  He  is  valuable  on  the  plantation,  if  he  is  not  as  good 
a  house-servant  as  Pompey." 

There  was  a  high  craggy  ledge  extending  along  the 
brow  of  the  nearest  hill,  and  from  some  cause  unknown 
to  Mr.  Erskine,  it  was  very  attractive  to  the  lightning. 
For  several  successive  minutes,  it  was  as  often  tearing 
up  the  ground ;  and  this  constant  flash,  as  well  as  their 
proximity  to  it,  alarmed  the  party,  and  they  availed 
themselves  of  the  first  gleam  of  sunshine  to  leave  their 
uncomfortable  position ;  and  after  fording  the  river, 
they  rode  directly  across  the  open  field  to  the  highway, 
and  presently  alighted  at  the  mansion,  pleased  with 
the  excursion,  although  drenched  with  the  shower. 

After  the  storm  subsided,  the  overseer  directed  Hec 
tor  to  go  in  search  of  Jeff,  who  was  found,  as  he  was 
emerging  from  the  woods  on  foot,  leading  his  mare 
with  perfect  composure. 


100  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    Oil 


CHAPTER  VII. 

SCHOOL   KEEPING. 

"  Still  the  wonder  grew, 
That  one  small  head  could  cany  all  he  knew." 

In  the  course  of  two  or  three  clays,  Mr.  Bates  arrived 
from  Winchester  with  "  bag  and  baggage,"  and  imme 
diately  commenced  his  arrangements  for  school  'keep 
ing.  Frederick  and  his  brother  were  to  receive  the 
attention  of  the  schoolmaster  at  the  mansion,  and  such 
of  the  blacks,  at  the  quarters,  as  Mr.  Erskine  might 
designate. 

The  idea  of  teaching  negroes — •  especially  slaves  — 
was  new  to  Mr.  Bates.  But  he  had  revolved  it  over 
in  his  mind,  since  the  subject  was  broached,  and  con 
cluded  to  let  this  unexpected  turn  in  his  destiny  take  its 
course.  He  walked  over  to  the  quarters  with  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine,  and  was  received  with  marked  attention.  The 
buildings,  maugre  their  homely  construction,  looked 
more  comfortable  than  he  anticipated,  and  the  apart 
ments  were  more  cleanly.  The  planter  gave  notice,  in 
bis  presence,  to  the  heads  of  the  several  families,  that 


101 

» 

all  the  boys  between  the  ages  of  five  and  fifteen  years, 
must  make  their  appearance  on  Monday  morning  fol 
lowing,  at  nine  o'clock,  at  the  hovel  in  the  lane,  for 
the  purpose  of  being  taught  the  rudiments  of  educa 
tion  ;  and  remarking  at  the  same  time,  that  Mr.  Bates 
was  the  schoolmaster,  and  the  hovel  the  only  conven 
ient  place  he  had  for  a  schoolroom.  This  piece  of 
intelligence  created  quite  a  buzz  among  the  inmates  of 
the  quarters,  and  the  subject  was  talked  about"  by  both 
old  and  young ;  and  all  wondered  who  this  Mr.  Bates 
could  be.  The  idea  of  going  to  school,  and  that  too  in 
the  old  hovel,  was  as  novel  to  them,  as  that  of  teaching 
slaves  was  to  the  instructor. 

Mr.  Bates  thought  that  it  was  more  than  he  "  bar 
gained  for,"  and  began  to  have  some  misgivings  as  to 
its  propriety.  Besides,  he  disliked  the  idea  of  being 
confined  in  so  small  an  apartment,  in  such  hot  weather, 
with  so  many  negroes.  In  addition  to  its  unpleasant 
ness,  the  atmosphere  there  engendered  might  affect  his 
health.  In  fine,  he  was  fearful  that  he  might  contract 
some  disease  of  a  chronic  type,  that  perhaps  might 
remain  in  his  system  for  the  residue  of  life.  His  mind 
was  uneasy,  and  he  wished  himself  released  from  this 
part  of  the  engagement.  He  did  not  desire,  however, 
to  acknowledge  this  wish  to  Mr.  Erskine.  Such  an 
acknowledgment  might  run  counter  to  his  ulterior  de 
signs  ;  and  what  those  were,  we  will  not  now  undertake 
to  define.  The  next  day,  they  were  sitting  in  company 
on  the  piazza;  and  Mr.  Erskine,  who  had,  in  eaiwst, 
entered  upon  the  design  of  giving  his  young  negroes 
the  benefits  of  an  ordinary  education,  was  inquiring  of 


102     .  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

» 

his  schoolmaster  what  books  it  was  desirable  to  buy  at 
Millwood,  for  their  use,  as  he  proposed  to  make  the 
purchase  on  the  following  day. 

"  I  will  make  a  memorandum,  sir,"  replied  the 
schoolmaster;  and,  after  a  moment's  pause,  added, 
with  some  hesitation,  "you  have  well  weighed  in 
your  mind  the  feasibility  of  your  plan  of  education. 
I  presume  ? " 

"  Perfectly,  Mr.  Bates." 

"And  the  propriety?" 

"  Of  that,  I  have  no  doubt." 

"  Can  you  inform  me,  Mr.  Erskine,  why  it  is  that 
the  education  of  the  slave  has  not  been  a  part  of  your 
system,  here  at  the  South?"  modestly  inquired  the 
schoolmaster. 

"  Custom,  I  suppose,  sir." 

"But  there  must  have  been  a  commencement  to 
this  custom!  And  there  must  have  been  a  reason,  I 
think." 

"Ah  !  yes,  Mr.  Bates.  Well,  if  I  were  to  assign  a 
reason,  I  should  say  that  it  was  more  the  poverty  of 
the  owner  than  his  unwillingness" 

"Why,  how  is  that?     I  do  not  appreciate  it." 

"  I  am  not  much  read  in  our  early  history,  sir ;  but 
it  has  come  traditionally,  if  you  please,  to  me,  that 
our  ancestors  were  not  overstocked  with  this  world's 
goods ;  and  as  it  was  necessary  to  buy  the  black,  to 
till  the  fields,  they  could  not  afford  to  spare  his  time." 

"  And  he  could  learn  to  work  without  the  aid  of 
academical  instruction? " 

"  Exactly,  sir." 


103 

"And  then,  his  soul — what  was  to  become  of  that, 
under  the  old  system  ?  " 

"  Ah !  sir,  that  's  the  point,  sure  enough,"  remarked 
Mr.  Erskine,  and  paused  for  reflection. 

"  It  was,  doubtless,  easy  enough  to  learn  them  how 
to  live,  and  how  to  work,  but  more  difficult  to  learn 
them  how  to  die  !  " 

"  Ah !  I  recollect,  my  lather  was  accustomed  to 
say  that  he  had  discharged  his  duty,  both  to  the 
slaves  and  the  Creator,  by  learning  them  how  to  die 
honestly  !  " 

The  answer  of  the  schoolmaster,  to  this  remark,  was 
not  ready,  and  he  paused  for  reflection. 

"To  accomplish  this,"  continued  Mr.  Erskine,  "  they 
were  taught  to  be  honest  to  each  other,  to  be  honest  to 
their  master,  to  be  honest  to  themselves ;  and  then 
they  surely  would  be  honest  to  their  God." 

"  And  thus  be  honest  in  life,  and  honest  in  death ! " 

"  Exactly,  Mr.  Bates." 

"It  has  occurred  to  me,  Mr.  Erskine,"  said  the 
schoolmaster,  very  blandly,  "  that,  in  the  benevolence 
of  your  heart,  you  have  overlooked  one  point." 

"  Pray,  what  is  that  ?  " 

"  If  you  give  them  too  much  knowledge,  they  may 
be  unruly,  and  discontented  with  their  lot." 

"  I  imagine  not ;  but,  on  the  contrary,  work  the 
harder,  to  increase  their  stipend,  and,  if  discontented, 
be  able  to  buy  their  freedom." 

"  The  task  would  look  too  big,  and  they  would  de 
spair  of  ever  being  able  to  accomplish  it.  The  bond 
age  would  be  galling  to  the  mind,  and  they  would 


104:  LIFE    AT    THE   SOUTH;    OB 

resort  to  all  methods,  to  break  the  chain  which  held 
them." 

"  That  certainly  would  be  dishonest.  And  do  you 
mean  to  say  that  knowledge  —  learning,  I  mean  —  is 
the  twin  sister  of  knavery  ?  " 

"  Xot  at  all  —  not  at  all,  Mr.  Erskine.  But  the  poet 
has  written, 

"Where  ignorance  is  bliss,  't  is  folly  to  be  wise," 

and  these  slaves  of  yours  are  contented  now,  because, 
unable  to  read,  they  appreciate  no  other  condition  of 
life.  But,  allow  them  to  acquire  information,  and  a 
change  would  speedily  come  o'er  their  spirit;  and, 
instead  of  expanding  their  energies  for  the  good  of 
the  plantation,  their  thoughts  would  dwell  on  the  in 
numerable  advantages  of  freedom,  and  be  busy  in 
schemes  to  reach  them.  If  they  failed,  the  creatures 
would  repine  at  their  hard  lot,  and  prove  a  curse  to 
the  owner." 

"  Am  I  to  understand,  then,  that,  as  a  ^Northerner, 
you  disapprove  of  my  plan  of  benevolence? " 

"  As  a  Northerner,  I  might  second  it,  for  I  consider 
slavery  an  evil ;  but  as  a  physician,  asked  to  prescribe 
some  antidote  for  the  ills  of  slavery,  I  say  let  it  alone ; 
it  needs  no  medicine ;  if  left  to  itself,  it  will  work  its 
own  cure." 

"  True,  nature  is  strong  in  her  own  constitution ; 
and  if  you  keep  out  drugs  and  purgatives,  and  not 
interrupt  the  machinery  by  accident  or  abuse,  she  will 
take  care  of  herself.  But  I  heard  so  much  said,  when 
I  was  in  the  city  of  Washington,  about  educating  the 


105 

black,  I  thought  I  would  try  it  on,  and  see  how  it 
worked  on  a  large  scale.  For  you  must  know,  that 
many  a  slave,  first  and  last,  has  been  taught  to  read 
and  write,  and  remained  faithful  to  his  master." 

The  schoolmaster  thought  Mr.  Erskine  immovable. 
Yet,  he  inferred  from  the  scope  of  his  remarks,  that 
some  kind  spot  in  his  heart  had  been  reached  by  the 
philanthropist ;  and,  for  a  wonder,  he  proposed  to  give 
the  blacks  some  education,  and  thus  discharge  what, 
perhaps,  he  deemed  a  moral  duty. 

"I  said,  Mr.  Erskine,  that  I  considered  slavery 
an  evil.  Do  not  misunderstand  me.  I  do  not  mean 
to  say  that  it  is  a  sin,  involving  moral  depravity. 
The—" 

Mr.  Erskine  had  a  reply  at  hand,  and  was  upon  the 
point  of  uttering  it,  but  as  the  schoolmaster  evidently 
was  not  through,  he  simply  remarked, 

"Proceed,  sir,  if  you  please." 

"  The  institution  of  slavery  dates  far  back  into  anti 
quity.  Whoever  has  read  the  page  of  history  atten 
tively,  must  have  observed,  that  a  system  of  vassalage 
has  existed,  to  a  greater  or  less  extent,  in  every  age 
and  country  ;  that  individual  has  been  subject  to  indi 
vidual,  and  even  nation  to  nation,  until  one  has  good 
reason  for  supposing,  that  it  is  a  part  of  the  great 
moral  economy." 

"  And  if  ever  free,  they  have  worked  themselves 
out  of  bondage,  is  it  not  so,  sir  ? " 

u  You  mean  fought  for  their  right  to  freedom,  either 
by  recompense  or  bright  deeds  ?  " 

"  Exactly,  sir." 


106  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  Such  is  the  record,  as  I  read  it,"  replied  the  school 
master,  "and  such  being  the  record  —  the  authenticity 
of  which  rests  not  either  in  doubt  or  conjecture  —  I 
can  not  conceive  it  to  be  your  duty  to  jeopard  rights 
that  have  come  into  your  possession  in  the  ordinary 
course  of  humanity.  If  you  wish  to  give  them  away, 
my  advice  is  to  sign  an  act  of  emancipation  at  once, 
for  then  you  will  have  prevented  evil  acts  from  evil 
designs,  and  not  injure  your  neighbor." 

"  I  have  too  much  confidence  in  my  blacks  to  fear 
any  such  consequences.  I  do  n't  believe  that  you 
could  hire  them  to  run  away,  if  that  is  your  meaning," 
replied  Mr.  Erskine  with  abruptness. 

"Well,  sir,  if  you  have  fully  considered  the  subject, 
and  are  ready  to  take  the  risk,  I  will  commence  the 
task  of  instruction,  and  see  how  it  works,"  replied  the 
schoolmaster,  abandoning  his  project  of  changing  the 
determination  of  Mr.  Erskine,  and  withdrew  to  his 
chamber  to  make  out  a  catalogue  of  books  for  the  use 

O 

of  his  pupils. 

The  overseer  wras  surprised  when  he  heard  what  the 
planter  proposed  to  do,  and  so  expressed  himself  to 
him.  But  it  was  of  no  use.  Mr.  Erskine  had  taken 
his  position,  and  Pompey  was  dispatched  to  Mill 
wood  for  such  books  as  were  designated  by  the  school 
master. 

On  the  following  Monday  school  commenced  at  the 
hovel  in  the  lane,  as  previously  arranged.  The  boys 
were  there  long  before  the  hour ;  and  time  with  them 
moved  so  tardily,  that  they  watched  for  the  entrance 
of  the  schoolmaster  with  nearly  the  same  anxiety  that 


107 

children  at  the  circus  look  for  the  entrance  of  the 
clown  into  the  ring.  Indeed,  it  is  quite  likely  that 
they  anticipated  some  amateur  performance  in  the  art 
of  legerdemain,  or  the  feats  of  the  gymnasium.  He 
at  length  made  his  appearance,  and  was  received  with 
silent  but  respectful  attention.  "Their  manners  are 
good,"  he  thought  to  himself,  "  and  with  a  pliable  dis 
position,  I  shall  make  them  learn." 

The  negresses,  and  some  of  the  negroes  who  hung 
back  from  work  that  morning,  came  down,  as  they 
said,  to  see  the  show,  and  were  loitering  around  the 
schoolhouse,  surmising  a  variety  of  things  that  were 
to  happen.  Neither  Jeff  nor  Csesar  could  persuade 
themselves  to  remain  away. 

"  Wha'  is  de  gemmaii  guine  to  do  wid  dat  stick?" 
asked  the  former,  pointing  to  a  beechen  switch  that 
the  schoolmaster  laid  on  the  table. 

Caesar,  casting  his  eyes  in  that  direction,  suggested 
that  "  He  was  guine  to  whip  the  boys." 

"  Golly  !  dat 's  urn,  ar'  it?  I  '11  seed  to  dat,"  said 
Jeff,  and  walked  to  the  door  of  the  hovel,  and  looked 
for  his  Joe.  "Here  Joe,"  said  he,  "come  out  of  dar. 
I  '11  do  my  own  flogging." 

The  schoolmaster  expressed  his  astonishment  at  this 
unceremonious  intrusion,  and  remarked  that  u  school 
had  only  just  begun." 

"And  when  does  um  end?"  inquired  Jeff,  in  a 
saucy  tone  of  voice. 

"I  shall  report  you  to  your  master,  sir,  if  any  more 
disturbance  is  created.  I  command  silence,  arid  as 
you  do  not  belong  to  the  school,  I  request  you  to  go 


108  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

about  your  own  business,"  replied  the  schoolmaster, 
with  earnestness. 

u  Well,  den,  jist  say  wha'  you  are  guine  to  do  wid 
dat  stick  afore  you?  " 

"  It  is  none  of  your  business,  sir !  you  black  dirty 
clout.  And  if  you  do  n't  remove  yourself  from  the 
doorway,  I  '11  try  its  virtues  upon  you,"  said  the 
schoolmaster,  and  seized  the  switch  to  put  his  threat 
in  execution. 

Jeff's  disposition  was  of  the  timid  kind,  and  enter 
taining  a  feeling  of  horror  at  personal  violence,  espe 
cially  to  himself,  he  left  the  hovel. 

Mr.  Bates  ascertained,  upon  examination,  that  the 
boys,  for  the  most  part,  were  ignorant  of  the  alphabet, 
and  that  he  must  devote  most  of  his  school  hours  in 
learning  his  pupils  their  letters.  This  seemed  so  much 
like  teaching  an  infant  school,  that  he  felt  humbled, 
and  was  ashamed  and  vexed  with  himself,  that  he 
must  u  stoop  so  low  to  conquer."  There  did  not  seem, 
however,  to  be  any  other  alternative  than  to  proceed 
in  this  humble  calling,  and  he  accordingly  devoted 
himself  to  the  work,  with  as  much  earnestness  and 
heart  as  he  could  muster.  It  seemed  to  him,  that  their 
minds  were  not  as  bright  as  those  of  white  persons  of 
a  similar  age.  For  he  experienced  great  difficulty  in 
making  them  comprehend  the  instruction.  On  account 
of  his  inexperience,  he  at  first  thought  this  dullness 
might  be  attributable  to  an  absence  of  simplicity  in 
his  method  of  instruction,  as  he  had  been  for  years 
engaged  in  seminaries  where  the  higher  branches  of 
learning  were  taught.  And  he  directed  his  attention 


109 

to  that  point.  But,  either  he  did  not  make  much  pro 
gress  in  acquiring  the  art  of  teaching  these  fundamen 
tal  rudiments  of  education,  or  else  the  boys  were 
uncommonly  stupid — for  it  was  certain  that  they  did 
not  make  much  headway.  He  had  run  his  school  into 
the  fourth  week,  and  they  could  scarcely,  with  one  or 
two  exceptions,  spell  a  word  with  one  syllable.  Yet, 
he  thought,  he  had  earned  his  wages,  and  consoled 
himself  with  this  reflection.  His  duties,  however,  at 
the  mansion,  were  more  congenial  to  his  feelings,  and 
recompensed  him,  in  some  measure,  for  his  unhappi- 
n ess  at  the  hovel.  Teaching  there  seemed  more  like 

O 

teaching  ;  and  the  hours  of  recreation  were  enlivened 
by  the  smiles,  blandishments,  and  accomplishments  of 
the  sweet  Mary.  Frederick,  among  other  branches  of 
study,  was  engaged  upon  the  law  of  nations,  using 
Yattel  as  his  text-book.  This,  together  with  Paley's 
Philosophy,  occupied  the  most  of  his  school  hours. 
He  was  thus  not  only  acquiring  information  upon  the 
subject  of  international  rights,  but  acquainting  himself 
minutely  with  the  moral  rights  and  duties  of  persons, 
in  all  the  diversified  relations  of  life.  When  he 
reached  that  part  of  Paley  which  treats  of  slavery,  he 
was  unable  to  perceive  or  comprehend  the  moral  right 
under  which  his  father  held  the  service  of  his  slaves, 
remarking  to  Mr.  Bates,  that  their  ancestors  may  have 
come  from  Africa,  and  suffered  the  horrors  of  the 
middle  passage. 

"That  would  not  affect  the  right,  unless  knowledge 
of  their  condition  in  Africa  was  known  to  the  original 
purchaser,  and  not  even  that,  at  this  day ;  for  the 


110  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

present  slaves  owe  their  life  and  means  of  living  to 
you,  and  until  that  debt  is  discharged,  can  not,  even 
on  Mr.  Paley's  principle,  claim  their  freedom,"  replied 
the  schoolmaster. 

"  Do  you  mean  to  assert  that  the  blood  which  flows 
in  Pompey's  veins  was  ever  free?"  inquired  Frederick. 

"  As  to  that,  I  can  not  say.  But,  there  are  many 
slaves  whose  ancestors  did  come  from  Africa." 

"And  what  was  their  condition  in  that  country?" 

"Their  own  masters,  of  course,  as  black  is  the  color 
indigenous  to  the  human  race  in  that  country." 

"If  so,  how  happens  it,  then,  that  they  became 
slaves  ?  For  certainly  no.  nation,  without  violating  the 
law  as  laid  down  in  Yattel,  could  rob  them  of  their 
freedom.  And  this  country  has  not  made  war  upon 
Africa." 

"  Oh  !  as  to  that,"  replied  the  schoolmaster,  desirous 
of  terminating  the  colloquy,  "  you  must  know,  or  if 
you  do  not,  let  me  inform  you,  that  there  are  many 
tribes  in  that  country,  each  striving  for  the  mastery 
over  the  other;  and  the  more  powerful  sell,  to  the 
white  men,  those  whom  they  subject  to  their  dominion, 
for  trinkets,  and  gold,  and  such  other  commodities  as 
may  be  offered  in  exchange." 

"  Then  they  are  not  their  own  masters,  after  all,  but 
have  lost  their  freedom  before  they  are,  in  common 
parlance,  '  sold  into  slavery  ; '  is  not  this  so  ?  " 

"  I  think  it  is  said,  that  they  are  sometimes  caught 
and  manacled,  when  acting  as  their  own  masters,  on 
their  native  soil." 

"By  whom?" 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  Ill 

"  The  officers  of  some  negro  king." 

"  Against  whose  power  they  can  not  defend  them 
selves  ? " 

"  Of  course  that  must  be  the  reason." 

"  Then,  according  to  this  same  Doctor  Paley,  their 
natural  rights  were  lost,  because  they  had  not  the 
power  to  protect  themselves.  To  speak  nearer  the 
mark,  their  rights,  in  this  respect,  were  never  perfect. 
Not  possessing  the  means  of  subsistence  for  man, even 
in  the  natural  state,  their  rights  were  imperfect,  for  the 
reason  that  they  could  not  retain  the  dominion  over 
the  earth.  And  when  it  came  to  that  point,  ignorant 
of  all  art  or  science,  they  must  either  starve  and  die, 
or  work  for  their  superiors  and  live.  They,  obeying 
the  impulses  of  nature,  involuntarily  preferred  the 
latter,  and  became  slaves.  Is  not  this  so  ?  " 

"  I  believe,  Frederick,  you  state  the  case  as  it  is. 
But  it  was  the  triumph  of  '  might  against  right.'  In 
a  moral  point  of  view,  the  superior  ought  not  to  have 
taken  advantage  of  necessity,  and  reduced  them  to 
vassalage  forever,  but  only  for  such  a  length  of  time 
as  would  enable  them  to  ransom  their  freedom." 

u  And  pray,  what  was  that,  but  the  price  of  their 
subsistence  for  life  ?  " 

"  It  docs  not  appear  so ;  for  a  small  sum,  the  king 
would  suffer  them  to  return  to  their  savannas  and 
fastnesses,  and  inhale  once  more  the  glorious  air  of 
freedom ! " 

"  Ah !  my  instructor,  but  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
intimate  where  that  small  sum  was  to  be  obtained  ? 
Not  from  their  own  means,  for  they  possessed  nothing; 


112  LIFE   AT    THE   SOUTH;    OR 

not  from  labor  for  the  king,  for  lie  had  no  labor  for 
them  to  perform." 

The  schoolmaster  was  puzzled  for  a  reply,  and  hesi 
tated  what  to  say, 

"  If  they  could  have  pawned  their  bodies  for  the 
sum  demanded,"  finally  said  he,  "  they  would  have 
escaped  the  thraldom  of  the  king." 

"That  was  done,  sir,  and  they  are  now,  morally 
speaking,  in  the  hands  of  the  pawnbroker,  awaiting 
redemption." 

This  reply  was  unexpected  to  Mr.  Bates.  He  felt 
that  his  "pupil  thought  deeper  than  himself,  and  this 
impression  wounded  his  vanity  ;  but  he  was  unwilling 
to  acknowledge  it,  by  his  silence. 

"  The  weakness  or  poverty  of  those  imbecile  crea 
tures,  in  their  original  state,  does  not  excuse  the  rapa 
city.  Like  the  wild  animal,  it  was  their  right  to  roam 
at  pleasure ;  and  like  the  birds  of  the  air,  to  make 
their  habitations  wherever  they  might  chance  to  light. 
Such  was  their  destiny,  as  allotted  by  an  overruling 
Power,"  remarked  the  schoolmaster,  at  the  same  time 
closing  the  text-book. 

"  And  in  the  dispensation  of  Providence,  by  that 
same  overruling  Power,  their  destiny  allotted  them  for 
a  different  sphere  of  action  from  the  animal  and  the 
bird  ;  for  they  have  neither  the  instinct  of  the  former, 
nor  the  heavenly  nature  of  the  latter,"  replied  the 
pupil. 

"  "Well,  really,  Frederick,  you  will  some  day  become 
a  metaphysician.  But  you  must  learn  to  abandon 
sophistry." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  113 

"  Why,  sir,  is  there  not  a  king  among  animals,  as 
well  as  among  birds  ?  Think  you,  that  the  lion  would 
consent  to  starve,  because  the  jackal  had  nothing  to 
eat ;  or  would  the  eagle  let  loose  his  prey,  from  his 
high  cliff  in  the  skies,  because  the  buzzards  were 
famishing  below  ? 

"Oh!  certainly  not." 

"Then,  upon  what  principle  of  moral  justice,  can 
you  reverse  this  order  of  Divinity,  and  make  the  crea 
tor  supply  the  wants  of  the  creature,  without  the  right 
of  demanding  a  recompense  in  return  ?  " 

Mr.  Bates  had  no  answer  to  make,  but  contented 
himself  with  simply  saying  that  the  lesson  for  that  day 
was  satisfactorily  recited,  and  descended  the  stairs  for 
recreation. 

Mary  was  sitting  in  the  drawing-room,  as  chirp  as  a 
bird,  and  as  blooming  as  a  rosebud.  She  appeared  to 
have  the  faculty  of  enjoyment.  With  a  guileless  heart, 
and  a  mind  free  of  care,  every  hour  came  laden  with 
fresh  delights,  and  she  wondered  why  others  could  be 
unhappy.  Fond  of  reading,  and  a  proficient  in  music, 
the  time  passed  lightly  with  her;  and  her  brothers 
were  always  ready  to  cater  for  her  amusement.  And 
when  they  were  absent  at  the  schoolroom,  and  her 
father  abroad  upon  the  plantation,  tired  of  thumbing 
the  piano,  "many  a  time  and  oft"  would  she  place 
her  harp  upon  the  window,  and,  listening  to  its  wild 
symphonious  notes,  as  the  balmy  zephyrs  came  o'er  it, 
look  out  upon  the  valley  and  the  hills,  with  the  grow 
ing  crops  and  green  foliage,  that  never  looked  half  so 
lovely  before.  She  was  thus  amusing  herself,  when 


Hi  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

a  gentleman  entered  the  door.  So  much  interested 
was  she  in  the  contemplation  of  the  scene  before  her, 
that  she  did  not  notice  him.  As  a  surprise,  he  came 
softly  to  her  side,  and  for  a  moment  joined  in  the  view. 
So  wrapt  were  her  senses  in  the  enchantment,  that  his 
presence  did  not  attract  attention. 

"  Mary  !  "  he  abruptly  exclaimed.  The  voice  star 
tled  her,  and  as  she  turned  her  face  and  looked  up, 
she  was  accosted  with  a  kiss  from  the  lips  of  the 
schoolmaster.  She  pushed  them  away  with  her  hands; 
the  blood,  with  magic  celerity,  rushed  deeply  into  her 
countenance,  and  she  instantly  rose  from  her  seat  and 
left  the  room.  As  she  passed  through  the  hall,  she 
caught  the  eye  of  Frederick,  and  she  walked  it  with 
such  rapid  strides,  so  unlike  her  usual  gait,  that  his 
curiosity  was  awakened  to  know  the  cause,  and  he  ran 
to  overtake  her. 

"  Mary,  Mary  !  "  exclaimed  the  brother,  "  what  trou 
ble  has  overtaken  you?  what  in  the  world  is  the 
matter?" 

"  Oh  !  Frederick,  I  know  not  what  to  think  or  say," 
she  replied,  her  eyes  moistened  with  tears. 

"  Why !  pray  tell  me  what  is  the  trouble,  Mary  ?  " 
said  her  brother,  very  excitedly. 

"An  insult," 

"  An  insult ! "  loudly  exclaimed  her  brother,  and 
ready  to  avenge  it,  "From  whom?  and  where? 
Tell  it  to  me,  Mary,  and  the  miscreant  shall  atone 
for  it." 

"The  drawing-room,"  was  the  reply,  and  Frederick 
turned  to  go  thither. 


115 

"Stop,"  she  quickly  added,  and  Frederick  again 
turned,  to  listen  to  what  his  sister  might  say.  "  I  may 
be  too  fast.  It  may  have  been  intended  as  a  joke, 
although  the  manner  of  it  shocked  my  feelings  too 
much,  so  to  receive  it." 

"  Again,  I  ask  you  what  it  was,  and  from  whom?  " 

Mary  explained. 

"  The  schoolmaster !  Mr.  Bates,  our  schoolmaster !  " 
said  Frederick. 

"  It  was  Mr.  Bates,  and  I  presume  you  will  now 
find  him  in  the  room,  by  the  window." 

Frederick  was  astonished,  at  this  freedom  of  the 
schoolmaster ;  and  at  a  loss  how  to  construe  it,  whether 
as  an  affront  or  a  playful  jest,  he  walked  into  the  draw 
ing-room.  And  sure  enough,  there  was  the  schoolmas 
ter,  at  the  window,  listening  to  the  melody  of  the  harp, 
as  unconcerned  as  if  nothing  uncommon  had  occurred. 

'  Have  you  seen  Mary,  since  you  come  down 
stairs  ?  "  said  Frederick  to  the  schoolmaster,  as  if  he 
had  not  seen  her  himself. 

"  Yes.  She  only  now  passed  out  into  the  hall.  Did 
you  not  meet  her?  She  can  not  be  far  off." 

"  No,  I  did  not  meet  her,"  said  Frederick,  ironically, 
"  but  I  overtook  her  at  the  end  of  the  hall.  She  was 
in  tears,  sir !  " 

"  Ah  !  I  am  very  sorry  to  hear  that." 

"And  in  consequence  of  an  insult  from  you,  sir!" 

"  Insult !  Oh  !  not  at  all.  You  allude  to  the  kiss, 
I  suppose." 

"  I  think  you  certainly  must  concede  it  to  be  a  great 
impropriety,  sir." 


116  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  Why,  Frederick,  I  know  of  no  reason  for  giving  it 
that  name.  It  is  not  so  viewed  at  the  North." 

"Of  itself,  sir,  quite  harmless.  But  the  manner 
in  which  you  saluted  my  sister,  makes  the  act  objec 
tionable." 

"  I  beg  the  pardon  of  both  of  you." 

"  Too  much  familiarity  upon  so  short  an  acquaint 
ance." 

"  I  will  take  care  and  not  repeat  it,"  said  the  school 
master,  biting  his  nether  lip  ;  and  leaving  the  window, 
sallied  out  upon  the  piazza,  and  then  down  the  lawn, 
and  meeting  Mr.  Erskine,  they  walked  to  the  brow  of 
the  hill  in  the  rear  of  the  mansion ;  and  then  strolling 
to  the  river,  whiled  away  the  afternoon  in  chatting  over 
the  news  of  the  day. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  H7 


CHAPTEE  YIII. 

THE   SECRET   LEAGUE    OF   REBELLION. 

BERTUCCIO. —  Let  all  the  rest  be  tliere  : 

I  have  a  stranger  to  present  to  them. 

CALENDARO. — A  stranger !  doth  he  know  the  secret  ? 

BERTUCCIO. —  Yes. 

CALENDARO. — And  have  you  dared  to  peril  your  friends'  lives 
On  a  rash  confidence  in  one  we  know  not  ? 

We  left  Uncle  Tom,  some  pages  back,  in  possession 
of  "  his  feelings  "  again,  and  vexed,  in  addition,  be 
cause  he  could  not  bring  Jeff  into  his  views.  Those 
feelings  daily  became  worse  and  worse ;  they  were  a 
torment  to  him  through  the  day,  and  were  his  evil 
spirits  at  night.  His  appearance  and  actions  did  not 
escape  the  notice  of  Dinah.  Ever  alive  to  her  hus 
band's  prosperity  and  happiness,  she  was  more  sensible 
than  would  have  been  acknowledged,  to  the  keen  and 
unceasing  anguish  in  which  her  dear  Tom  seemed  to 
writhe  day  in  and  day  out,  from  week  to  week.  She 
would  offer  palliatives  for  its  assuagement,  but  they 
were  uniformly  declined.  Aware  of  the  jealousy  en 
tertained  by  him  toward  the  open-minded  and  tender 
hearted  Hector,  she,  on  more  occasions  than  <me. 


113  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

ventured  to  mention  the  subject,  hoping  to  discover 
the  tender  point,  and,  if  practicable,  soften  the  asper 
ity,  if  not  heal  the  wound.  But  these  advances  of 
her's  were  not  only,  in  the  end,  simply  declined,  but 
they  were  rejected  in  cold  disdain,  and,  not  unfre- 
quently,  in  vociferous  anger.  And  thus  finding  her 
self  debarred  the  pleasure  of  sharing  or  alleviating  his 
ills,  she  submissively  yielded  to  the  necessity,  and 
prayed  in  her  heart  that  he  might  become  a  more  duti 
ful  servant,  and  a  better  man.  When  it  was  announced 
at  the  quarters,  that  Mr.  Erskine  had  engaged  a  teacher 
for  the  little  children,  no  one  was  heard  to  scoff  but 
Uncle  Tom.  It  was  true,  that  he  could  not  appreciate 
the  favor,  for  he  knew  not  what  education  was ;  but 
whatever  it  might  be,  he  believed  there  was  a  sinister 
motive  that  actuated  the  master.  Prejudice  —  perhaps 
it  might  be  more  charitable  to  say  madness  —  had  so 
warped  or  blinded  his  innate  sense  of  right  and  wrong, 
that  he  was  unwilling  to  think,  for  an  instant  of  time, 
even,  that  the  same  kind  heart  which,  in  its  bountiful 
goodness,  had  hovered  over  him  for  nearly  half  a  cen 
tury,  could  now  overlook  his  "short  comings,"  and, 
like  an  angel  of  grace,  not  only  forgive  Itim^  but  bless 
his  blood,  even  to  the  second  generation.  And,  for 
aught  we  know,  it  may  seem  strange  to  any  person. 
But  Mr.  Erskine's  property  descended  to  him  by  inher 
itance.  If  he  had  more  or  other  slaves,  the  same  was 
the  gift  of  nature,  nourished  and  sustained  by  his 
paternal  care.  II is  means  were  abundant  for  shelter 
and  sustenance ;  his  confidence  in  the  affection  of  his 
household  was  unbounded;  and  if  the  rising  generation 


119 

was  susceptible  of  education,  he  believed  that  its  ac 
quirement  would  redound  to  their  happiness  and  his 
advantage.  Besides,  at  "Washington,  he  had  heard 
much  sympathy  expressed  for  the  ignorance  of  the 
blacks  ;  and  he  fully  resolved  that  he  would  learn,  by 
practical  illustration,  how  far  removed  they  were  from 
the  condition  of  the  brute.  That  they  would  avail 
themselves  of  the  lights  of  knowledge,  to  do  wrong,  he 
did  not  believe.  And  if  possessed  of  consciences,  like 
the  free-born,  he  believed  that  these  silect  lecturers 
would  be  so  many  monitors,  to  confine  them  to  the 
path  of  rectitude. 

It  happened  that  two  of  Uncle  Tom's  children  at 
tended  the  school.  One  of  them  was  a  bright  lad,  and 
studious.  And  such  was  the  proficiency  which  he 
made,  as  compared  with  his  fellow-students,  that  he 
attracted  the  attention  of  the  schoolmaster,  and  some 
times  was  petted,  at  the  expense  of  the  other  pupils. 
Naturally  enough,  this  familiarity  banished  from  the 
mind  of  the  lad  any  bashful  reserve,  and  by  degrees 
ripened  into  a  fondness  for  the  society  of  his  teacher. 
After  the  "  school  hours  "  were  over,  and  his  associates 
were  wending  their  way  homeward,  he  would  linger 
at  the  hovel  until  Mr.  Bates  was  ready.  Finally,  one 
day,  and  soon  after  the  unpleasant  interview  with 
Frederick  in  the  drawing-room,  the  schoolmaster  in 
quired  whose  child  he  was.  He  said  that  his  mother 
was  called  Dinah,  and  his  father  Uncle  Tom. 

"  Ah !  him  that  has  a  cabin  with  a  veranda  in 
front.  Very  good.  Can  you  say  to  your  father,  that 
lie  has  a  smart  son,  and  that  if  he  will  stray  down 


120  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

the  lane,  after  dark,  he  will  hear  something  to  his 
advantage  ?  " 

"Yes,  mass'r." 

"  That 's  a  good  boy  ;  and  here  is  a  penny  for  your 
pains." 

The  lad  made  a  very  thankful  bow,  and  ran  to  over 
take  the  other  children. 

"  Stop ! "  said  the  schoolmaster,  and  the  command 
was  no  sooner  uttered  than  obeyed.  "  Be  careful  and 
not  mention  what  I  have  told  you.  It  is  for  your 
father's  ear  alone." 

"  Yes,  mass'r." 

"  And  you  will  be  sure  not  to  forget  the  errand? " 

"  Yes,  mass'r,"  replied  the  lad,  and  ran  up  the  lane 
at  the  top  of  his  speed. 

Mr.  Bates  did  not  converse  with  his  usual  freedom, 
at  the  tea-table  that  evening.  He  had  no  observations 
to  make,  or  questions  to  ask,  and  his  replies  were  in 
monosyllables.  The  atmosphere  was  sultry  and  ener 
vating,  and  Mr.  Erskine,  who  was  peculiarly  fond  of  a 
chat  over  his  coffee  cup,  excused  this  unsociableness,  at 
tributing  it  to  the  weariness  of  the  weather.  Frederick 
and  Mary,  neither  of  whom  had  mentioned  the  scene  in 
the  drawing-room,  attributed  the  schoolmaster's  reserve 
to  that.  And  so  believing,  they  more  strongly  sus 
pected  that  there  was  a  design  in  it ;  especially  as 
he,  at  the  time  of  the  occurrence,  endeavored  to  make 
so  light  of  it.  Mary,  therefore,  and  also  Frederick, 
instead  of  regretting  the  dullness  and  unamiableness 
of  Mr.  Bates,  were  glad  to  be  relieved  from  his  pres 
ence,  and  were  as  much  disinclined  to  converse.  As 


121 

/ 

soon  as  coffee  was  over,  the  schoolmaster  withdrew 
to  his  chamber,  and  the  family  to  the  piazza,  to  fan 
themselves,  and  enjoy  the  light  breezes  of  the  evening. 

"  Come,  Mary,  can  you  not  sing  me  that  sweet  fav 
orite  of  yours,  or  is  it  too  cruel  to  ask  you,  when  the 
air  is  so  oppressive  ? "  said  the  father. 

"The  air  is  never  too  oppressive  to  gratify  you," 
replied  the  daughter,  and  reached  for  her  guitar.  And 
while  his  brow  was  fanned  by  the  delicious  breezes, 
that  now  began  "  to  creep  gently  o'er"  the  valley  from 
the  hills  beyond,  she  fingered  her  light  instrument, 
and  he  listened  to  its  plaintive  but  ecstatic  strains,  as 
as  she  sang,  in  the  richest  melody,  the  following  simple 
lines  of  Shelley : 

Good  night  ?  ah  !  no  ;  the  hour  is  ill, 

Which  severs  those  it  should  unite ; 
Let  us  remain  together  still, 

Then  it  will  be  GOOD  night. 

How  can  I  call  the  lone  night  good, 

Though  thy  sweet  wishes  wing  its  flight  ? 

Be  it  not  said,  though  understood, 
Then  it  will  be  GOOD  night. 

To  hearts  which  near  each  other  move, 
From  evening  close  to  morning  light, 

The  night  is  good  ;  because,  my  love, 
They  never  SAY  good  night. 

"  Excellent,  Mary ;  and  I  will  beg  you  to  repeat  it 
again,  some  other  evening,"  said  her  father,  delighted 
with  the  song  and  her  filial  affection. 

Mr.  Bates  listened  in  his  chamber,  and  was  envious 
of  the  happiness  which  prevailed.  Soon  after  nightfall, 


122  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

he  crept  silently  down  the  stairs,  and  passing  out  of 
the  back  door  of  the  hall,  directed  his  footsteps,  with 
a  soft,  but  quick  tread,  toward  the  hovel.  Fearful, 
lest  Uncle  Tom  might  not  meet  him  according  to  the 
appointment ;  and  perhaps,  vain  of  the  notice  paid  to 
him  by  the  schoolmaster,  divulge  the  lad's  errand  at 
the  quarters,  he  hurried  his  gait,  as  he  approached  the 
lane,  to  remove  his  suspense.  When  he  neared  the 
hovel,  hearing  no  footsteps  but  his  own,  and  seeing 
"  no  signs  of  life,"  his  heart  began  to  throb  witli  rapid 
pulsation.  He  thought  to  return,  but  upon  going  to 
the  door  and  looking  inside,  sure  enough,  Uncle  Tom 
had  promptly  complied  with  the  request,  and  was 
seated  in  the  schoolroom,  quietly  awaiting  his  arrival. 
The  slave  rose  as  the  schoolmaster  entered,  and  uncov 
ering  his  head,  placed  his  hat  under  his  arm. 

"  Resume  your  seat,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  in  the 
tone  almost  of  a  whisper,  "  and  we  will  converse  freely 
and  at  our  leisure." 

"Berry  good,  mass'r,"  replied  Uncle  Tom,  and  was 
again  seated. 

"What  is  the  age  of  your  little  boy? " 

"  'Bout  ten,  I  'spect,  mass'r." 

"He  is  full  of  brains." 

"Takes  arter  his  fader,  den,"  said  Uncle  Tom, 
laughingly,  and  proud  of  the  compliment. 

"  So  I  supposed.  And  when  I  reflected  upon  his 
lowly  lot  in  life,  I  thought  that  the  possession  of  so 
much  brain  would  be  a  curse  to  him,  as  he  grew  up." 

"  Ki,  mass'r,  enty  he  guine  to  be  good  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  not  that." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  123 

"Wha'  you  guine  to  say,  mass'r?"  asked  Uncle 
Tom,  who  naturally  disliked  indirection,  and  impatient 
to  understand  the  schoolmaster's  idea. 

"  As  he  grows  into  manhood,  his  brains  will  grow 
stronger  and  stronger,  and  develope  their  power  more 
and  more." 

"  Berry  like,  mass'r." 

"  And  if  Mr.  Erskine  really  carries  out  his  plan  of 
education,  as  now  commenced,  the  lad  will  be  able  to 
appreciate  the  natural  rights  of  man  in  all  their  phases ; 
and,  repining  at  his  hard  fate,  his  anguish  of  mind 
will  be  keener,  and  he  will  be  more  miserable  than  he 
would  be,  if  he  remained  in  ignorance. 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  I  know  it  will  be  so ;  and  it  is  a  great  pity.  I 
sometimes  think  I  will  abandon  the  school.  I  do  uot 
like  to  be  an  instrument  of  misery  to  any  person." 

"  An'  den  not  learn- um  any  more,  mass'r?" 

"Not  here." 

"  Whar'  den  ?  my  ole  massa  hab  no  oder  place." 

"In  a  more  Northern  latitude." 

"  Can  not  be  done,  mass'r." 

"  Why  not?     I  could  take  him  home  with  me." 

"  Wha' !  mass'r,  wha' !  you  guine  to  hab  um  run 
away?  No,  no,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  shaking  his  head. 

"  I  am  astonished  that  you  decline  the  offer." 

"  Wha'!  mass'r,  you  hab  um  run  away  from  friends, 
an !  guang  among  enemies,  an'  .hab  nothin'  to  eat ! 
No,  no." 

"  You  have  a  queer  notion  of  the  state  of  freedom. 
Why,  man,  there  you  are  your  own  master;  and  use 


124  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OK 

for  your  own  pleasures  all  that  you  earn  from  your 
labor." 

"  An'  no  massa  come  'long  an'  say  to  Uncle  Tom, 
4  Dar,  gib  me  part  of  d at  corn  an'  tobaccy,'  an'  I'm 
to  hab  um  all  to  myself  an'  Dinah?  am  dat  it  \ " 

"  That  is  it,  exactly.  From  the  brains  of  the  lad,  I 
suspected  that  you  would  have  enough  to  comprehend 
my  views,  and  I  am  happy  not  to  be  disappointed." 

"But  how  am  I  guine  to  go  dar  ? "  asked  the  slave, 
beginning  to  be  favorably  impressed  with  the  idea. 

"  Oh  !  without  difficulty." 

"  I  hab  no  corn,  nor  monies,  to  eat  or  use  on  de  way. 
Where  shall  I  get  um  ? " 

"Oh!  you  can  take  enough  from  the  quarters  to  last 
you  until  you  reach  the  free  states ;  and  then  there 
will  be  no  difficulty  in  procuring  all  that  you  may 
desire.  You  will  find  the  people  all  friends." 

"  Ar'  dey  all  frien's  of  de  col'd^gemman,  an'  sticking 
frien's?" 

"  There  are  no  slaves  in  the  land  of  freedom.  All 
are  free  and  equal." 

"  An'  all  de  corn  an'  tobaccy  am  free  an'  equal,  an' 
each  nigger  guine  to  hab  all  he  takes  ?  Dat  ?s  it.  I 
likes  um,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  enraptured  with  his 
notions  of  freedom  and  equality. 

"They  are  free  to  go  and  come  as  they  please; 
eat,  drink,  and  be  merry,  wherever,  and  as  often  as 
they  choose;  work  as  their  will  may  dictate,  and  no 
overseer  to  stand  over  their  bodies  with  the  whip; 
and  the  rights  of  all  under  government,  one  and  the 
•same." 


125 

"Dat's  it.  Dat  state  of  freedom  is  good.  I  likes 
urn.  Dat 's  better  than  free  niggers  in  ole  Virginny," 
said  Uncle  Tom,  more  and  more  delighted  with  the 
theme. 

"  Oh  !  the  free  negroes  here  do  not  enjoy  freedom," 
remarked  the  schoolmaster.  c'They  have  no  rights, 
in  fact." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r,  how  that  am.  Abe,  the  hostler 
up  dar  at  Millwood,  is  free.  I  'spects  dat  he  is  better 
off  than  he  was  afore.  But  den,  he  had  poor  massa. 
I  hab  more  respectable  massa.  He  is  rich  and  great 
man.  Abe's  massa  was  not  half  so  big.  Dat  might 
make  difference  in  de  pleasures  of  dat  freedom." 

"  I  suspect  that  the  burdens  of  the  one  are  as  great 
as  that  of  the  other ;  although  the  poor  master,  per 
haps,  might  ransom  for  a  lesser  price  than  the  rich." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  Are  you  acquainted  with  this  Abe  you  speak  of? " 

"  I  knows  him  little ;  not  much  acquainted  wid  him. 
His  ole  massa  libs  down  de  riber,  some  four  or  five  miles. 

"  Abe,  I  think,  might  be  of  much  assistance  to  you, 
in  running  you  out  of  slavery." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  Can  you  not  have  an  interview  with  him  ?  " 

"Wha5  dat,  mass'r?" 

"  I  mean  to  ask  if  you  can  not  see  him,  and  plan  an 
escape  with  him  ?  " 

"Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  Can  you  not  make  some  business  at  Millwood,  and 
avail  yourself  of  that  opportunity  to  disclose  to  him 
your  wishes  ? " 


126  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  J    OR 

"  Uncle  Tom  has  no  business  anywhar'  but  on  de 
plantation,  now  dat  ole  massa  no  longer  likes  urn?" 

"  What  is  that  you  say  ?  "  quickly  asked  the  school 
master. 

"  Massa  no  longer  likes  me,  nor  I  him.  Ole  Hector 
is  in  my  shoes,  now,"  replied  the  slave,  drawing  a  long 
breath. 

This  intelligence  gave  the  schoolmaster  new  hopes, 
and  a  new  and  different  course  of  policy  occurred  to 
his  mind.  Instead  of  relying  solely  upon  the  glorious 
visions  of  freedom,  he  would  appeal  to  the  lowly  and 
base  passion  of  revenge.  If  once  thoroughly  aroused, 
he  thought  it  would  be  a  more  lasting  and  surer  instru 
ment  to  bring  into  use,  in  effecting  his  object.  And 
without  any  apparent  intention  to  change  the  drift  of 
his  conversation,  he  inquired  the  cause  of  this  change 
of  feeling  on  the  part  of  the  master. 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  Have  you  not  performed  your  labor  as  usual?  " 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"Ah!  Hector  probably  prejudiced  you  with  bad 
stories." 

"  Dun-no,  how  dat  am." 

"  But,  if  you  performed  your  labor  cheerfully,  I  see 
no  reason  for  the  master  to  change  his  conduct  toward 
you." 

"  Dat 's  de  trouble.  I  was  not  guine  to  do  more 
than  I  could." 

"  What  was  the  trouble  ?  " 

"  He  pitted  me  'gainst  Hector,  an'  ca'se  dat  stout 
nigger  happened  to  beat  me,  I  was  treated  wid  blame." 


127 

"  I  presume  that  your  master  meant  to  disgrace  you. 
And  I  should  not  wonder  if  he  meant  to  kill  you  with 
overwork,  as  you  are  getting  past  your  prime." 

"  Dat  's  it.  He  meant  to  kill  me,  an'  failing,  he 
shut  me  up  in  dis  hovel  to  starve  an'  die ! " 

"In  this  hovel,  do  you  say,  Uncle  Tom?" 

"  Yas,  mass'r,  in  dis  hovel." 

"  But  when  did  that  happen,  and  how  did  you 
prevent  the  accomplishment  of  the  design?"  with 
pretended  sympathy,  asked  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Dimno  exact  time ;  month  or  so  afore  you  come 
on  to  de  plantation.  An'  arter  staying  here  all  day 
an'  night,  wid  nothin'  to  eat,  massa  overseer  took  pity 
on  me,  and  let  me  out." 

"  Horrible !  horrible  punishment,  to  starve  to  death." 

"  I'd  rather  be  whipp'd  to  death,  an'  finish  um." 

"  Far  preferable." 

"  I  neber  can  forgib  massa  for  dat." 

"  You  never  should  forgive  him.  And  if  you  would 
listen  to  me,  as  a  friend,  I  should  advise  you  to  get 
out  of  his  clutches  as  soon  as  possible." 

"  Yas,  mass'r.  But  I'm  afeerd  to  attempt  it.  If  I 
should  fail,  den  I  certainly  should  die;  an'  its  great  ways 
off  to  the  state  of  freedom.  An'  I  hab  no  friends." 

"  If  you  will  do  as  I  direct,  you  shall  not  fail,"  was 
the  encouraging  answer  of  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Well,  I  'm  miserable  now.  I  can  not  be  more  so 
hereafter,"  answered  the  slave,  not  quite  determined 
what  to  do. 

"When  you  are  in  the  land  of  freedom,  you  will 

wonder  that  you  hesitated." 
6 


128  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

"Well,  wha'  you  direct  me  to  do,  mass'r? " 

"  When  you  say  that  you  will  follow  my  direction, 
I  will  inform  you  what  to  do." 

"  Well,  mass'r,  I  will  do  as  you  say." 

"Are  you  resolved?"  inquired  the  schoolmaster, 
with  much  earnestness.  Uncle  Tom  hesitated,  and 
remained  silent.  "  If  this  is  a  specimen  of  your  cour 
age,"  added  the  schoolmaster,  "  you  ought  to  be  a 
slave  and  die !  " 

Uncle  Tom  essayed  to  speak,  but  the  words  stuck  in 
his  throat.  The  schoolmaster  noticed  the  effort,  and 
smiled. 

"  I  am  glad  that  language  fails  you.  I  would  not 
hear  you  speak,  unless  you  can  talk  freedom,"  said  he 
tauntingly. 

"  Have  pity,  mass'r.  I  was  guine  to  ax  you  wha' 
to  do  with  Dinah,  an'-  ''  Uncle  Tom  could  no  longer 
restrain  himself,  and  burst  into  tears,  leaving  the 
sentence  unfinished. 

"  Dinah  shall  accompany  you,"  said  the  school 
master. 

"  An'  what  am  I  guine  to  do  with  my  children  ?  " 

"  Do  with  them  ?  why,  man,  they  shall  accompany 
you,  also." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r,  how  I  'm  guine  to  do  all  dis." 

"  Easy  enough." 

"Dunno  ;  too  many,  I  fear,  to  go  in  company." 

"Too  many  !  Why,  man,  the  whole  plantation  can 
go,  if  they  will  follow  my  directions.  And  this  is 
precisely  what  I  would  like  to  see  take  place.  If  the 
master  will  not  emancipate  them,  why  then,  I  say,  let 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  129 

the  blacks  rise  together,  and  emancipate  themselves. 
This  will  make  short  work,  and  terminate  in  a  victory 
that  will  tell  against  this  evil  institution  of  slavery 
all  through  the  South,  and  redound  to  the  cause  of 
freedom  everywhere." 

"Dat  I  should  like,  mass'r;  all  try  together,  an' 
den,  if  we  were  caught,  massa  would  not  kill,  for  he 
would  need  our  labor  on  de  plantation." 

"  Beyond  a  doubt." 

"  Den,  I  am  RESOLVED,"  replied  Uncle  Tom 

The  schoolmaster,  having  accomplished  the  object 
he  had  in  view,  when  the  lad  received  the  errand,  he, 
at  first,  was  disposed  to  adjourn  this  meeting  to  a  sub 
sequent  evening;  but  lest  Uncle  Tom  might  recant, 
lie  concluded  to  lead  him  further  into  his  schemes 
then,  and  take  the  risk  of  his  late  return  to  the  man 
sion  creating  any  suspicion  there  of  the  rectitude  of 
his  conduct. 

"  Well,  sir,  as  I  promised  to  tell  yon  how  the  escape 
must  be  made,  if  you  would  resolve  to  comply  with 
my  direction,  I  shall  keep  my  promise  ;  but  mark  you, 
what  I  say  to  you  is  in  strict  confidence,  and  to  be 
kept  as  a  secret.  Do  you  understand  me  ?  " 

"Yas,  mass'r.     I  tell  no  nigger." 

"Nor  white  man?  " 

"  I  neber  talk  to  white  man  in  confidence,  mass'r. 
No  fear  clar  of  dis  nigger." 

"Ah!  true;  I  should  have  known  better.  A  fool 
to  ask  the  question.  I  was  thinking  of  you,  as  if  you 
was  now  inhaling  the  air  of.  freedom." 

"I  thought  allers  sin'  I  know'd  you,  dat  you  was 


130  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

fast  hoss,  mass'r,"  replied  Uncle  Tom,  and  laughed  at 
his  wit. 

"  My  friend,'-  said  the  schoolmaster,  surprised  at  the 
slave's  frivolity,  "  we  have  too  serious  business  011  foot 
to  be  merry-making  !  " 

"  I  ax  y'r  pardon,  mass'r.  I  felt  dat  I  was  now 
in  dat  freedom  you  spoke  to  me  "bout.  Dat's  all, 
mass'r." 

"  We  will  proceed,  then,  to  the  work,  as  it  is  getting 
late." 

"  Yas,  mass'r.  I  'm  all  ears,  as  Dinah  told  me, 
when  I  ax'd  her  to  lib  wid  dis  nigger." 

"You  say  you  know  Abe,  that  free  negro  at  Mill 
wood  ? " 

"  Yas,  mass'r ;  Uncle  Tom  hab  known  Abe  sin'  he 
was  born." 

"  Well,  your  master  gets  his  school  books  at  Mill 
wood,  and  to-morrow  I  shall  intimate  to  him  that  more 
books  are  needed  in  this  school,  and  shall  request  him 
to  send  to  Millwood  for  them.  Ponipoy,  whom  he 
would  probably  send,  is  sick,  and  "- 

"Pompey  sick!  I  allers  liked  dat  nigger." 

"  Yes,  but  not  seriously  :  and  I  will  say  to  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine,  that  I  will  make  out  a  memorandum,  and  hand 
it  to  the  overseer.  He  will  assent  to  that.  You,  to 
morrow  morning,  pretend  to  the  overseer  that  you  are 
unwell,  and  I  will  hand  the  memorandum  to  him,  after 
the  others  are  in  the  meadow.  He  will  hesitate  whom 
to  dispatch.  I  will  suggest  you,  and  that  perhaps  you 
are  well  enough  to  ride  up  there.  If  he  assents,  you 
go,  and  find  Abe.  Tell  him  what  is  afoot ;  ask  him 


131 

to  meet  me  and  yourself  here,  day  after  to-morrow 
night,  and  then  we  will  perfect  the  arrangements." 

Uncle  Tom  shook  his  head. 

"  What !  Does  not  this  proposition  meet  your  ap 
probation  ?  We  must  Jtave  the  assistance  of  Abe  " 

"  Dat  's  lie,  massa !  Dis  nigger  rieber  cheats  !  When 
I  would  n't  work,  I  allers  told  massa  overseer  dat  it 
was  'my  feelings '  dat  was  in  de  way." 

"  This  is  not  what  should  be  called  by  that  name. 
In  polite  life,  it  would  be  called  an  intrigue.  Nothing 
more.  Besides,  you  recollect  that  the  religious  book 
says,  '  that  we  may  do  evil  that  good  may  come.'  I 
heard  your  master  say  this  within  these  two  weeks." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  But  you  are  not  at  liberty  to  hesitate.  You  have 
solemnly  promised  to  do  as  I  direct.  This  was  the 
only  condition  upon  which  I  would  consent  to  con 
fer  with  you.  And  you  declared  that  you  was  re- 
solved." 

"Yas,  mass'r." 

"  And  will  you  break  your  promise  so  quick  ?  " 

"  I  allers  keep  my  word,  mass'r,  an'  if  dis  is  wrong, 
I  throws  all  de  blame  on  your  shoulders.  I  go." 

"  That  is  right,  Uncle  Tom ;  and  mind  and  be  as 
willing  hereafter.' 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"Then  I  have  nothing  further  to  say  to  you  now. 
I  will  meet  you  and  Abe  here  at  the  time  appointed." 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  And  mind  you  tell  not  what  has  happened  to 
night  to  no  living  person  —  not  even  to  Dinah." 


132  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  !Nb,  mass'r,"  replied  Uncle  Tom,  and  they  sepa 
rated  :  the  slave  to  his  cabin,  to  dream  of  freedom ;  and 
the  schoolmaster  to  his  apartment  at  the  mansion,  to 
ponder  upon  mischief  to  its  hospitable  and  open-hearted 
proprietor. 

Mr.  Bates  appeared  at  the  breakfast  table,  the  ensu- 
ino*  morning,  with  as  much  unconcern  and  noncJia- 

O       '  c?" 

lance  as  he  could  assume.  His  absence  the  previous 
evening  was  not  noticed,  and  he  went  to  the  task  of 
instruction  with  his  usual  cheerfulness.  Mr.  Erskine 
seemed  to  have  an  uncommon  good  flow  of  spirits ; 
and  the  morning  itself  was  delightful.  A  shower  of 
rain  had  fallen  during  the  night,  and  the  atmosphere 
was  invigorating.  The  grass  in  the  meadows,  and  the 
corn  in  the  fields,  the  trees  that  lined  the  lawn,  and 
the  shrubbery  in  the  garden  and  orchard,  the  hills 
adjacent,  and  the  valley  itself' — all  had  put  on  a  new 
dress ;  and  the  birds,  as  they  skipped  from  tree  to  tree 
and  nestled  among  the  leaves,  chirped  their  wild  lays 
with  more  facility  and  sweetness.  Mary  had  forgotten 
the  affront  in  the  drawing-room,  and  Frederick  listened 
to  the  lesson  of  his  instructor  with  strict  attention. 
"  And  the  day  wore  on,  and  the  evening  grew  nigh.11 
The  family  sipped  their  coffee,  quietly  and  cheer 
fully,  and  then,  as  was  their  custom,  repaired  to 
the  piazza  and  the  drawing-room,  to  while  away  the 
evening. 

"My  little  urchins,  then,"  said  the  planter  to  the 
schoolmaster,  "  are  making  rapid  improvement?  You 
must  set  apart  some  day,  and  Mary  and  myself  will 
come  down  and  see  them  in  their  studies." 


133 

"  Oh !  you  will  be  surprised  at  their  progress,  sir.  I 
confess  to  you  rny  surprise." 

"  They  are  out  of  the  spelling  book,  already,  you 
say?" 

"  Oh !  they  are  not  entirely  through  with  it." 

"  Ah !  I  supposed  such  was  the  fact,  and  that  you 
desired  to  put  their  little  minds  upon  some  new  topic." 

"  You  did  not  comprehend  me,  sir.  There  are 
different  kinds,  adapted  to  the  successive  stages  of 
instruction  through  which  they  pass." 

"Ah  !  it  is  a  new  or  improved  edition,  more  easy  to 
comprehend." 

"2sbt  exactly  that,  sir." 

""Well,  I  am  getting  rather  antiquated,  Mr.  Bates, 
and  as  for  that,  I  can  not  boast  of  a  very  thorough 
education ;  for,  in  my  young  days,  school  books  were 
rare  commodities,  and  good  teachers  rarer.  Besides, 
I  did  not  have  much  inclination  in  that  direction;  I 
preferred  the  horse,  the  hunt,  and  the  fish.  You  must 
excuse  my  imbecility,"  said  the  planter,  vexed  that  he 
was  so  stupid  in  his  inquiries. 

"  Oh !  sir,  you  do  yourself  injustice.  Your  reading 
is  good,  and  very  general.  I,  indeed,  have  been 
instructed  by  your  conversation." 

"My  wife,  sir  —  Mrs.  Erskine  —  God  bless  her!" 
and  he  dropped  a  tear. 

"Pardon  me  for  this,  sir,"  exclaimed  the  school 
master,  fearful  that  he  had  probed  a  sore  place. 

"  Oh  I  a  mere  spasm,"  replied  the  planter,  wiping 
the  tears  from  his  eyes.  "  As  I  was  remarking,  sir, 
Mrs.  Erskine  was  of  great  benefit  to  me  in  that  way." 


134: 

"Well  educated,  I  presume." 

"  Of  exquisite  perception  and  refined  intellect  her 
self,  she  was  at  the  tip-top  of  happiness  when  divert 
ing  her  friends  with  her  interesting  conversation.  Oh  ! 
how  often  have  I  listened  by  the  hour.  She  had  read 
most  everything;  familiar  with  almost  every  subject 
you  might  name,  and  most  happy  in  the  faculty  of 
communicating  her  thoughts  to  the  companions  whom 
she  was  entertaining." 

"  I  do  not  remember  of  hearing  her  maiden  name." 

"  Dessaussuere,  sir,  of  Carolina." 

"  A  foreign  name." 

"  Of  French  extraction,  sir." 

"  Overseer  told  me  to  hand  you  this,  massa,"  said 
Pompey,  who  now  came  upon  the  piazza,  and  delivered 
to  Mr.  Erskine  a  paper. 

"  Ah !  the  bill  for  the  books,"  said  he,  and  showed 
it  to  the  schoolmaster. 

"  Correct,  and  the  charges  are  reasonable,  Mr. 
Erskine." 

"  I  was  fearful  Tom  might  blunder." 

11  Correct,  and  back  in  good  time,"  replied  the 
schoolmaster,  and  shortly  left  his  seat. 

We  ask  the  reader  to  go  with  us  again  to  the  old 
hovel  in  the  lane.  There  do  we  find  Mr.  Bates,  sit 
ting  alone,  in  deep  thought.  On  a  sudden,  he  hears 
footsteps,  and  listening  to  the  sound,  as  it  becomes 
more  and  more  audible,  he  knows  that  his  comrades 
are  approaching,  and  he  is  in  readiness  to  receive 
them. 

"  Uncle  Tom,  you  have,  in  good  faith,  followed  my 


135 

direction  ? "  said  he,  as  the  slave  entered  the  door  in 
company  with  another  black. 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  And  this  is  — " 

"  Abe,  de  ole  hostler." 

"  Yery  good.  I  am  glad  to  meet  you  here.  Now, 
be  seated  and  we  will  confer  together  at  our  leisure." 

"  Uncle  Tom,  is  dis  the  schoolmass'r  dat  you  told 
me  'bout  ?  "  inquired  Abe,  intending  to  be  sure  of  his 
man  before  he  committed  himself  too  far. 

"  Yas,  Abe,  dis  is  de  gemman." 

"  Berry  good.     Proceed." 

"  You  are  aware,  of  the  trouble  which  is  brewing  on 
the  plantation  ? " 

"Sa!" 

"  You  have  heard  that — " 

"Sa!  I  hears  of  nothin'—  nothin'." 

"  Why,  what  does  this  conduct  mean,  Uncle  Tom  ?  " 

"  Abe  fights  um  shy,  mass'r.     He  is  ole  nigger." 

"  Have  you  not  let  him  into  the  secret?  " 

"Not  at  all,  mass'r.  You  told  me  to  say  nothin'  to 
nobody." 

"  Ah  !  so  I  did,  and  you  resolved  to  follow  my  in 
structions.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  observant." 

"Well,  mass'r,  I  'm  all  ears  an'  no  mouth,"  said 
Abe,  impatient  to  know  the  occasion  of  the  meeting. 

""Why,  Abe,  you  are  free,  I  am  informed." 

"  Yas,  by  golly  !  I  bought  it  myself,  an'  no  thanks." 

"  And  Uncle  Tom  also  desires  to  be  free." 

"  Berry  good.  He  must  work  hard,  and  lay  um  up, 
jist  as  I  did,  an'  he  will  git  free." 


136  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  Dat  's  it ;  I  know'd  Abe  would  say  so,"  said  the 
slave. 

"  Such  have  been  his  efforts  for  many  a  long  year. 
But  his  family  is  too  large.  He  can  not  accomplish 
it.  Your  master  was  poor;  and  his  is  rich.  The 
value  of  his  body  is  marked  too  high  for  him  to  raise 
the  amount  by  his  own  labor." 

"  An'  he  wants  dis  nigger  to  lend  a  hand  ? " 

"That  is  precisely  what  is  desired." 

"  Well,  mass'r,  if  I  had  any  loose  coins  'bout  me,  I 
would  throw  urn  into  his  hat ;  but  I  'm  sorry  to  say, 
dat  dis  nigger  is  short  dar," 

"The  expense  to  you  will  be  very  trifling.  He 
desires  your  services  and  time." 

"  Sa  !  "  said  Abe,  rising  from  his  seat. 

"  Oh  !  remain  quiet,"  begged  the  schoolmaster,  "  re 
sume  the  seat  again,  if  you  please." 

"My  services!  you  say,  mass'r  ?"  replied  Abe,  in 
his  seat.  "  I  am  out  of  service,  an'  I  would  n't  work 
on  de  plantation  again  for  all  de  niggers  in  de 
valley ! " 

"  You  misunderstand  me,  sir.  I  mean  that  Uncle 
Tom  desires  your  personal  aid  in  making  his  escaped 

"Ah!  dat  's  urn.  Ah,  ha!  Uncle  Tom  thinks  of 
cheating  the  cage  some  night,  an'  run  away.  Is  dat 
de  point,  mass'r  ?  " 

"  1  ou  comprehend  his  intention;  and  as  you  are  at 
liberty  to  go  and  come  as  you  please,  if  your  disposi 
tion  is  right,  you  can  render  invaluable  assistance. 
"What  say  you  ?  " 

"I  must  consider,  massi'." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  137 

The  schoolmaster  paused  to  hear  his  decision.  The 
slave  sighed,  and  looked  most  beseechingly.  He  did 
not  expect  any  hesitation. 

"  Will  you  refuse  aid  to  your  fellow  black,  in  such 
an  extremity  as  this?  " 

Abe  scarcely  knew  what  reply  to  give.  His  gene 
rosity  said  yes  ;  but  caution  suggested  no. 

"I  fear  de  consequences  to  myself,"  finally  lie 
remarked. 

"And  how  can  you  be  affected,  be  the  result  of  the 
effort  what  it  may  ?  " 

"  De  officer  would  seize  hold  of  my  body,  an1  de 
jail  would  be  my  home." 

"  I  do  not  comprehend  you." 

"  Sa !  "  exclaimed  Abe,  ignorant  of  the  meaning  of 
the  word  which  the  schoolmaster  happened  to  use. 

"I  do  not  understand  you,  Abe." 

"Dar  is,  in  ole  Yirginny,  a  law  'gainst  stealing 
away  niggers,  an1  dat  sticks  in  my  crop." 

"  Oh !  this  is  the  trouble.  Why,  man,  you  need 
have  no  fear  on  that  account.  In  the  first  place  you 
do  not  propose  to  steal  Uncle  Tom,  and  if  you  did,  the 
proof  of  the  crime  must  precede  conviction." 

"If  I  should  git  de  slave  his  freedom,  it  would  be 
known  all  over  Millwood  in  a  jiff." 

"  Xot  if  you  used  ordinary  discretion,  and  kept  your 
thoughts  to  yourself.1' 

"  'Case  I  was  away  from  de  stable,  would  be  de 
reason  of  my  being  found  out,  mass'r." 

"  Ah !  I  see.  If  you  followed  my  direction,  you 
would  not  be  absent  from  your  usual  place  of  work. 


138  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

And  am  not  I  —  a  white  man  —  incurring  as  much 
risk  as  you  1 " 

"Yas,  mass'r." 

"  I  have  no  fear.  As  I  read  the  great  book,  it  justi 
fies  me  in  doing  my  duty,  leaving  the  consequences  to 
God  ! " 

"Well,  mass'r,  dis  nigger  hardly  knows  what  to  do. 
It  would  do  my  ole  heart  good  to  help  Uncle  Tom. 
.He  is  de  prince  of  niggers.  I  knows  um  long  time 
ago." 

"  Then  say  you  will  put  your  shoulder  to  the  wheel, 
and  we  will  proceed  in  the  business  ;  or  we  will  break 
up  our  meeting,  and  abandon  the  slave  to  his  lowly 
lot.  It  is  for  you  to  decide  the  question.  I  am  con 
trolled  by  my  pure  feeling  of  philanthropy  for  the 
oppressed.  So  far  as  my  own  personal  interest  is  con 
cerned,  it  is  of  no  consequence  to  me,  whether  the 
slaves  remain  in  their  present  condition,  or  bask  in  the 
sunshine  of  freedom." 

"  Abe,  you  hab  gone  too  far  to  back  out ;  say  yas," 
implored  the  slave. 

"  Mass'r,  I  must  ax  you  question,"  said  Abe,  turn 
ing  to  the  schoolmaster,  who  had  risen  from  his  seat, 
apparently  with  the  intention  of  bidding  them  good 
night. 

"  Yery  good.     You  shall  be  answered." 

"  'Spose  wTe  follow  your  directions,  are  you  sure, 
mass'r,  dat  you  bring  um  out  safe  in  de  end  ?  " 

"Beyond  a  doubt." 

"  So  mass'r  told  dis  nigger,"  remarked  the  slave. 

"  Pen  I  am  resolved,  mass'r,"  replied  Abe. 


139 

This  determination  was  gratifying,  as  well  to  the 
schoolmaster  as  the  slave ;  and  even  Abe  felt  relieved 
at  his  heart,  when  he  made  the  announcement. 

"  Come,  then,"  said  the  former,  "  we  will  now  pro 
ceed  at  once  to  plan  the  escape.  We  have  lost  much 
time  by  your  dalliance  in  coming  squarely  up  to  the 
work." 

uSa!  mass'r,"  exclaimed  Abe,  a  little  alarmed,  or 
perhaps,  beginning  to  be  afraid  of  the  schoolmaster; 
for  his  address  was  suddenly  different  —  assuming 
more  the  lordly  air  of  a  master,  than  that  of  a  boon 
companion . 

"  We  must  now  lay  out  our  work,  and  concoct  the 
means  of  executing  it  promptly.  There  must  be  no 
dilatoriness  now,  and  each  must  be  sure  to  do  his  part." 

"  Berry  good,  mass'r." 

"To  begin  with,  we  must  be  careful  and  not  divulge 
our  secrets,  only  to  those  of  the  blacks  who  come  into 
the  arrangement." 

"  No,  mass'r.     How  many  are  to  know  um  ? " 

"  Every  slave  in  this  valley  who  will  join  us." 

"  Wha\  mass'r!  all  de  niggers  dat  ar'  n't  free?  " 

"Certainly." 

"  'T  is  impossible,  mass'r." 

"  That  is  a  mistake  of  yours,  Abe.  It  is  easier  for, 
say  twenty,  to  go  away  in  company,  than  one." 

"How  is  dat?" 

"Why,  they  can  defend  themselves,  if  attacked, 
with  surer  success  ;  and  then,  if  they  make  their  escape, 
they  can  form  a  community  by  themselves,  in  the  land 
of  freedom." 


140  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  How  is  it,  Uncle  Tom  ?  are  there  oder  niggers  dat 
am  gnine  to  run  off  ? " 

"  Mass'r  thinks  so.     I  'm  guine  to  see." 

"  And,  Abe,  we  must  proceed  to  learn  this  by  de 
grees.  "We  must  not  be  in  too  great  a  hurry." 

"  Berry  good." 

"  Uncle  Tom  will  sound  them  on  this  point.  He 
has  already  learned  of  some  who  would  avail  them 
selves  of  the  opportunity  at  the  proper  time.  Is  it  not 
so,  Tom  ? " 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  And  when  we  know,  with  certainty,  those  that  can 
be  relied  upon,  all  must  meet  together,  and  arrange 
the  details." 

"  How  long,  first,  mass'r? " 

"  I  should  suppose,  within  ten  days,  at  the  furthest.1'' 

"  An'  whar  shall  we  meet  ?  " 

l'  That  must  depend  upon  circumstances.  You  and 
Uncle  Tom  can  arrange  that." 

"  Jist  so.  I  shall  be  at  de  ole  stable,  and  can  be 
told  when  to  come  up." 

"JSTot  at  all.     You  must  do  the  running;.     It  will 

O 

not  answer  for  the  slave  to  go  backward  and  forward 
to  Millwood.  That  of  itself  would  create  suspicion. 
To  avoid  this,  we  propose  to  use  you  as  messenger 
between  the  slaves." 

"Berry  good." 

"  We  wish  you,  to-morrow  and  the  next  day.  to  visit 
your  old  friends  in  the  valley,  and,  as  occasion  may 
offer,  talk  to  them  of  freedom.  Get  the  names  of  those 
who  are  anxious  to  enjoy  it,  and  who,  in  your  opinion, 


have  the  pluck  to  use  the  means  to  reach  it,  and  report 
to  us  here.  We  will  then  canvass  them,  and  deter 
mine  how  we  are  to  approach  them,  and  divulge  the 
plan.  Can  you  do  this,  Abe?  " 

"Yas,  mass'r,  an'  I  will  do  it.  I  neber  put  my 
hand  to  de  plough  an1  look  back." 

'"  Do  n't  mention  um  to  Dinah.     I  '11  do  dat  part." 

"Yas,  Uncle  Tom." 

"  And  be  sure  and  impress  upon  their  minds  the 
impossibility  of  failure,  if  they  will  follow  your  direc 
tion.  But  be  careful  and  not  let  them  know  of  this 
meeting,  nor  of  any  concert  of  action  between  us  now. 
Otherwise,  the  whole  scheme  may  be  frustrated." 

"  On  dat  head,  I  shall  be  as  mum  as  a  'possum, 
mass'r." 

"  Very  well,  we  now  understand  each  other,  and  our 
secrets  are  one.  We  will  now  part  company,  to  meet 
here  again  at  the  time  I  have  designated,"  said  the 
schoolmaster,  satisfied  that  his  scheme  of  emancipation 
would  work  successfully. 

Abe,  the  free  negro,  was  busy  circulating  among  the 
slaves,  in  accordance  with  the  direction  of  the  school 
master,  during  the  following  two  days.  Contrary  to 
his  expectation,  he  did  not  find  the  blacks  disposed  to 
run  away.  In  fact,  excepting  in  two  or  three  instances, 
and  on  as  many  plantations,  he  did  not  find  any  that 
had  given  the  subject  a  thought.  Contented  as  they 
were,  their  views  of  freedom  had  not  gone  beyond  the 
condition  of  those  blacks  who  had  purchased  their 
time  of  their  masters.  And  the  condition  of  many 
of  this  latter  class  presented  to  their  minds  no  very 


142  LIFE   AT   THE   SOTTH ;    OR 

attractive  features  ;  and  as  for  going  oif —  away  off— 
from  the  land  of  their  nativity,  among  entire  strangers, 
this  idea  was  repulsive  to  their  feelings,  and  not  enter 
tained  for  a  moment.  Abe  concluded,  that  most  of 
them,  instead  of  fighting  their  masters  to  make  an 
escape,  would  fight  those  who  should  attempt  "  to  run 
them  into  freedom."  And  even  those  who  fancied  a 
trip,  did  not  evince  much  anxiety  to  undertake  it,  as, 
in  the  language  of  some  of  them,  as  reported  by  Abe, 
"it  would  be  too  long  for  pleasure." 

However,  he  met  Uncle  Tom  and  the  schoolmas 
ter  at  tlxe  appointed  time,  and  reported  all  he  had 
seen  and  heard.  It  was  unwelcome  information,  and 
damped  their  hopes.  Uncle  Tom  was  not  aware  that 
his  actions  were  the  promptings  of  revenge.  The 
schoolmaster  had  depicted  the  beauties  of  freedom  in 
such  glowing  colors,  and  his  desire  to  deliver  himself 

o  O 

from  the  servility  due  to  his  master  was  so  great,  that 
he  did  not  stop  to  inquire  whether  his  fellow-slaves 
would  experience  sensations  like  himself,  but  thought 
^only  of  the  gratification  of  his  own  wish  and  desire. 
Arid  when  Abe,  in  the  honest  fulfillment  of  the  duty 
which,  he  had  taken  upon  himself  to  perform,  detailed 
the  numerous  conversations  he  had  with  the  various 
blacks  on  the  several  plantations  in  the  valley,  it  oc 
curred,  for  the  first  time,  to  the  slave,  that,  perhaps,  it 
was  not  simply  freedom  which  he  seeked  to  enjoy. 
He  now  began  to  reason  with  himself;  and  the  mure 
he  reflected,  the  more  he  feared  that  he  should  fail, 
and  be  more  miserable  than  ever  he  was  before.  The 
schoolmaster  observed  his  downcast  appearance,  and 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  143 

attributed  it  to  that  despondency  which  is  the  natural 
concomitant  of  ill  luck. 

"  Xever  mind,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  he  "  all  the  blacks 
would  jump  into  freedom,  if  chance  offered  ;  they  hate 
to  walk  there,  as  you  do.  They  will  be  glad  to  em 
brace  the  opportunity  of  escape,  wThen  the  way  thereof 
is  told  them  in  detail.  No  being  with  a  soul,  can  con 
tentedly  remain  and  endure  the  low  degradation  of 
slavery — that  infamy  of  infamies." 

These  remarks  were  w^ords  of  encouragement,  and 

o 

well  calculated  to  straighten  into  line  again  his  un 
steady  mind,  now  oscillating,  as  it  were,  between  the 
revengeful  feelings  of  a  haughty  heart  and  the  dazzling 
visions  of  a  distempered  imagination. 

"  Xeber  mind  my  looks,  mass'r ;  I  'm  all  right  here," 
said  the  slave,  bringing  his  hand  upon  his  breast; 
"  when  it  gives  out  here,  den  I  will  hollar  stop." 

"  Ah !  yes,  that  is  the  true  spirit.  I  knew  I  had 
not  mistaken  my  man.  You,  sir,  were  born  for  free 
dom  !  "  replied  the  schoolmaster,  gratified  that  he  now 
saw  his  way  clear  once  more. 

"  Well,  mass'r,"  said  Abe,  "what  is  your  direction? 
I  have  not  much  more  time  to  lose." 

"Do  you  suppose  that  the  blacks  you  have  named 
can  be  trusted  ?  " 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"Have  they  had  any  altercation  with  their  mas 
ters?" 

•  "Dunno." 

"It  is  a  pity.  If  they  had,  their  appetites  for  a 
runaway  would  be  keener." 


144:  LIFE  AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

"They  will  bite  sharp,  if  you  gib  nm  de  victuals, 
mass'r." 

"Sure  of  that,  Abe?" 

"  Oh  !  I  know'd  so,  mass'r.'5 

"  Well,  we  will  trust  to  their  honor." 

"  Agreed  to,  mass'r." 

"Invite  them  —  where  shall  we  say?  Abe,  give 
me  your  counsel." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r.     Somewhar'  dat  's  secret." 

"I  was  thinking  of  some  other  "place;  but,  on  the 
whole,  I  think  that  this  is  the  spot." 

"Yas,  mass'r,"  said  Uncle  Tom. 

"  Very  good.     Can  you  see  them  to-day,  Abe  2 " 

"  Oh  !  I  'spccts  so." 

"  Ask  them  to  come  here  to-morrow  night ;  and, 
Abe,  tell  them  to  be  sure  and  come  separately ;  for,  if 
they  come  in  squads,  it  might  attract  attention." 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  And  say  to  them,  not  to  come  until  after  it  is 
dark." 

"  Yas,  Abe,  pitch  dark !  "  said  Uncle  Tom. 

"  Agreed  to,  gemmen,"  replied  the  ostler,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  not  much  above  a  whisper;  and  this  council 
was  adjourned  accordingly. 

Abe  went  to  the  cabin  of  a  trusty  friend,  on  the 
neighboring  plantation,  to  tarry  for  the  night.  His 
name  was  Caesar,  but  not  the  same  Caesar  spoken  of 
before.  lie  was  smart,  and  ripe  for  freedom.  Con 
trary  to  orders,  Abe  had  made  a  confidant  of  this 
Caesar,  and  he  was  up,  awaiting  Abe's  return,  when 
he  entered  the  cabin.  Although  long  past  the  usual 


CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  145 

hour  of  going  to  bed,  such  was  Caesar's  anxiety  to 
know  what  transpired  at  the  hovel,  that  he  prevailed 
upon  Abe  to  acquaint  him  with  all  the  particulars. 
And  when  the  loquacious  hostler  finished  his  story, 
Crcsar,  for  the  first  time,  intimated  his  distrust  of  the 
schoolmaster.  Abe  was  astonished  that  Caesar  should 
talk  so,  and  insisted  that  he  was  the  best  of  friends  to 
the  poor  slave,  and  worthy  of  unlimited  confidence. 
Ca?sar  finally  admitted,  that  it  was  the  part  of  gener 
osity,  not  to  condemn  him  unheard ;  and,  if  he  was  a 
snake  in  the  grass,  they  should  hear  his  rattle  or  hiss 
in  due  time  to  escape  his  venom.  Caesar,  however, 
was  happy  to  learn  that  the  arrangement  was  rapidly 
progressing  to  a  head,  and  laid  down  upon  his  bed 
and  slept  soundly.  We  can  not  say  the  same  of  the 
hostler.  He  passed  a  sleepless  night,  tossing  to  and 
fro  in  the  bunk,  and  "  looked  worse  for  wear  "  in  the 
morning;.  But  his  heart  was  not  faint,  and  he  executed 

o  / 

the  orders  of  the  schoolmaster  with  undeviating  fidel 
ity  ;  and  when  night  came,  he  was  the  first  at  the 
hovel. 

Mr.  Bates  did  not  keep  school  on  that  day,  and  being 
unwell,  as  he  said,  kept  himself  close  in  his  chamber. 
At  evening,  he  walked  out  to  refresh  himself  with  the 
night-breeze,  and  took  occasion  to  stop  at  the  hovel, 
soon  after  Abe  entered  it.  It  was  not  long  before  the 
blacks,  who  had  been  invited  there,  began  to  assemble  ; 
and  the  sable  flock,  with  its  white  shepherd,  were  soon 
gathered  into  the  fold. 

Perceiving  so  many  together,  agreeably  to  their 
promise,  and  among  the  number  several  from  his  own 


146  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

quarters,  Uncle  Tom  "  took  courage,"  and  was  remark 
ably  pleasant.  He  bad  not  looked  so  much  like  him 
self  for  many  weeks. 

"Well,  mass'r,"  said  Abe,  "  my  boys  are  here." 

"  Close  the  door,  Torn,  that  there  may  be  no  eaves 
droppers." 

"  Yas,  mass'r,"  replied  the  slave,  and  stepped  as 
nimbly  as  a  boy ;  u  I  fasten  um  tight,  mass'r." 

"  How  many  are  here  to  embark  in  this  enterprise?" 

"Ten  of  um,  mass'r,"  replied  the  hostler. 

"  If  there  arc  any  cowards,  now  is  the  time  for  them 
to  stand  up.  Xone  !  Very  good.  We  will  march  to 
freedom  together." 

"  All  ready  for  dis  consult." 

"The  sooner  we  put  the  plans  in  execution,  the 
better  will  be  the  chance  of  success." 

u  I  agrees  to  dat,"  remarked  Jeff,  the  fiddler. 

u  Yas,  mass'r,"  said  Jack,  who  belonged  on  a  plan 
tation  near  Millwood. 

"  ]Sfo  delay.  I  'm  guine  to  be  free  in  a  jiff,"  said  the 
Ca3sar  who  had  lodged  Abe. 

"  Yas,  mass'r,"  echoed  all. 

"  Excellent  spirit ;  but  we  must  take  care  and  cover 
our  tracks.  It  is  easier  to  talk  than  to  act.  We  must 
observe  secrecy,  and  act  together  as  a  unit." 

"  Yas,  mass'r.  Tell  um  wha'  to  do,  and  I  '11  be 
boun'  dat  ebery  ting  will  come  out  exactly  as  you 
said." 

"  We  must  have  some  place  of  rendezvous.  Where 
shall  that  be?  You  know  the  make  of  the  country 
roundabout,  better  than  myself." 


147 

"  Dunno,  mass'r.     Speak  um  yourself,"  said  Abe. 

"  Perhaps  some  of  our  comrades  do  know.  I  should 
like  to  hear  some  of  them  express  their  views." 

"  Oh  !  mass'r,  I  know'd  good  place,"  remarked  Jeff, 
and  all  gave  their  attention. 

u  Xame  it,  if  you  please." 

"  Way  up  on  de  high  hill  in  de  foot  path.  I  lay'd 
dar  one  arternoon,  an'  nobody  come  along  but  de 
lightnen  an'  thunder.  Berry  secret  place ;  an'  mass'r 
you  hab  no  tracks  dar;  you  can  kiver  um  up  wid  de 
leaves.  Oh  !  bags,  bags  of  um  up  dar !  " 

"Pshaw!  you  simpleton.  You  misunderstand  my 
meaning,  when  I  say  that  we  must  cover  our  tracks." 

"  Wha' !  wha'  dat,  mass'r? "  asked  Jeff,  who  was  not 
alone  in  his  wonderment. 

u  We  must  proceed  so  stealthy  that  the  pursuers  will 
not  hear  our  footsteps,  and  keep  our  thoughts  to  our 
selves,  so  that  there  will  be  nothing  from  which  they  can 
conjecture  our  designs,  or  learn  whither  we  are  going." 

"  Oh  !  dat 's  it,  mass'r.  Berry  good.  They  will  not 
cotch  dis  nigger.  When  I  starts,  I  'm  guine  like  a 
race-horse,"  said  Jeff,  in  no  respect  miffed  by  the 
harsh  remark  of  the  schoolmaster. 

"  I  think,"  finally  said  the  schoolmaster,  "  that  Abe's 
barn  at  Millwood,  is  the  place  for  the  rendezvous. 
Why  say  you  ?  " 

"Dat 's  um,"  wras  the  universal  response. 

"  An'  when,  mass'r? "  inquired  the  hostler. 

"  Ah  !  that  is  a  very  important  item  in  our  league. 
Our  friends,  I  presume,  can  name  the  time  better  than 
myself.  What  say  you  to  this  ?  " 


148  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"  Suit  your  own  convenience,  mass'r,"  said  Uncle 
Tom. 

"  Can  you  all  be  ready  to  move  on  from  the  rendez 
vous  two  weeks  from  to-iiiglit  ?  " 

"  Yas,  mass'r,"  was  the  united  reply. 

"Well,  then,  let  that  be  the  time.  And  as  you 
assemble  at  the  barn,  come  into  the  town  from  differ 
ent  directions  ;  and  go  leisurely  along  the  street,  as  if 
you  had  nothing  in  particular  upon  your  mind.  In 
the  intermediate  time,  get  yourselves  in  readiness  for 
a  long  journey,  and  fill  your  pockets  with  as  much 
ready  money  as  you  conveniently  can,  so  that  you 
may  have  something  to  defray  necessary  expenses." 

"  Gosh,  Uncle  Tom,  dat  ar'  advice  will  fetch  us  to 
de  state  of  freedom ! "  exclaimed  Jeff. 

"Is  this  the  order  of  our  arrangement?  If  any  one 
has  objection,  let  him  make  it  known  now." 

The  entire  company  approved  of  the  plan  of  the 
schoolmaster,  and  nodded  assent. 

"  Two  weeks  from  to-night,  then,  at  Millwood,"  he 
reiterated,  as  they  began  to  depart  for  their  several 
quarters  ;  "  and  forget  not  our  league  ;  for  if  you  do, 
slavery  is  your  lot,  and  justly  too,  forever  and  ever." 

"  No,  mass'r,"  answered  all ;  and  ere  long,  the  old 
hovel  was  as  silent  as  the  grave.  Abe  rested  easier 
that  night,  arid  Uncle  Tom  was  in  ecstacy. 


149 


CHAPTER  IX. 

THE   STJKPKISE. 

"We  '11  meet  it 

As  men  whose  triumph  is  not  in  success, 
But  who  can  make  their  own  minds  all  in  all 
Equal  to  every  fortune." 

"We  are  now  to  return  to  that  part  of  our  story  where 
we  left  Mr.  Erskine  and  the  family  on  the  piazza  of 
the  mansion,  enjoying  the  cool  of  the  evening.  He 
was  to  set  out  the  following  morning  for  Winchester, 
to  attend  the  assize,  and  Pompey  had  received  direc 
tions  to  accompany  him.  He  so  informed  Mr.  Bates, 
when  the  latter  suggested  the  purchase  of  more  school 
books ;  but  as  the  same  were  needed  for  immediate 
use,  and  Mr.  Erskine  probably  would  be  detained  for 
several  days,  Uncle  Tom  was  dispatched  instead,  as 
already  mentioned. 

During  his  stay  at  court,  it  so  happened  that,  one 
day,  Mr.  Erskine  fell  in  company  with  the  bookseller ; 
and  in  the  course  of  the  conversation,  he  observed  to 
the  bookseller,  that  his  young  slaves  were  making 
rapid  progress  in  acquiring  the  rudiments  of  education. 


350  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OB 

"  I  have  not  much  faith  in  jour  plan,"  replied  the 
bookseller. 

"  Whether  they  will  recollect  the  teachings  of  the 
schoolmaster,  is  more  than  I  can  undertake  to  say  ;  but 
I  do  not  understand  why  their  memory  is  not  to  be 
regarded  as  reliable  in  this  particular  as  in  the  recol 
lection  of  the  duties  which  they  are  taught  to  perform, 
day  after  day." 

"  They  will  not  be  troubled  so  much  to  rcmernber  as 
to  learn.  They  can  not  bring  their  minds  to  the  sub 
ject  ;  that  is  the  trouble,  sir ;  their  brains  are  too 
light';  too  fond  of  play  and  frolic  — too  facile:  light 
headed  race,  sir  —  not  designed  for  education." 

u  Oh !  but  I  know,  already,  that  you  are  mistaken 
in  that  opinion.  They  appear  to  learn  rapidly  —  very 
rapidly.  Why,  sir,  it  was  only  a  day  or  two  since,  you 
know,  that  I  was  under  the  necessity  of  getting  from 
you  a  fresh  instalment  of  books  ;  the  first  supply  being 
disposed  of — entirely  learned  by  the  little  fellows  — 
and,  so  that  no  time  be  lost,  it  wTas  necessary  to  buy 
more  books  without  delay." 

"  I  wras  not  aware  of  that  circumstance,  sir." 

"  Kot  aware  of  it !  " 

"  No,  sir." 

"  All !  you  were  not  in  your  store  when  my  slave, 
Tom,  got  the  last  batch." 

"I  was  at  home,  sir,  when  your  Tom  called,  the 
other  day,  certainly ;  but  he  received  no  new  books, 
sir,"  said  the  bookseller,  regretting  that  he  had  missed 
a  sale  to  the  planter. 

"  "What !  Tom  received  no  new  books  !     Why,  there 


151 

is  a  mistake  somewhere  in  this  matter,"  said  the 
planter,  with  an  expression  of  great  surprise  in  his 
countenance. 

"  No,  sir ;  Tom  got  no  books." 

"The  devil!  You  are  forgetful  —  very  forgetful. 
Why,  sir,  Tom  brought  home  a  receipt  for  the  same ; 
and  what  is  more,  I  believe  I  have  it  now  in  my  pocket- 
book,"  said  the  planter,  and  he  looked  over  his  papers 
for  the  receipt  which  the  slave  gave  to  him  at  the 
mansion,  upon  his  return  from  Winchester.  "There, 
sir- — there  is  your  receipt  for  the  payment  of  the  last 
parcel  which  you  sold  me,"  added  the  planter,  hand 
ing  the  paper  to  the  bookseller;  "read  it,  sir,  if  you 
please." 

"Yes,  sir;  this  is  my  handwriting;  I  recollect  the 
circumstance.  It  runs  as  follows :  '  Received  of  Mr. 
Bates,  the  grammarian,  ten  50-100  dollars,  in  full  for 
account,  per  the  hand  of  Mr.  Erskine,  planter,  near 
Millwood.  Thos.  Ewbank.'  All  right." 

"To  be  sure  it  is  all  right,  Mr.  Ewbank.  I  knew 
you  would  recollect  Tom's  getting  the  books." 

"  You  are  under  a  misapprehension,  Mr.  Erskine ; 
Tom  got  no  new  books.  The  money  was  received  by 
me,  to  square  an  old  account  against  Mr.  Bates.  It 
had  been  running  several  months." 

"  No  new  books  !  to  square  an  old  account  against 
Mr.  Bates,  my  schoolmaster !  The  devil !  Well,  this 
is  a  misapprehension.  Inexplicable  —  it  is  really  in 
explicable.  I  confess,  I  am  surprised.  And  Tom  got 
no  new  books,  d'  ye  say  ? " 

"  No,  sir,  he  got  no  new  books.     He  merely  called 


152  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

into  the  store,  handed  to  me  the  money,  I  wrote  him 
the  receipt,  he  took  it  —  that  was  all." 

"  Not  a  word  'bout  new  books?  " 

"  No,  sir ;  not  a  lisp,  that  I  heard,  about  any  more 
books." 

"  Why,  did  he  not  have  a  line,  or  verbal  message, 
from  Mr.  Bates  to  you,  sir  ?  " 

"Ah  !  I  remember  ;  he  handed  me  a  note  from  Mr. 
Bates,  to  the  effect,  I  think,  that  enclosed  was  the  money , 
and  requesting  me  to  give  a  voucher  therefor.  Of 
course,  sir,  I  applied  the  money  as  I  understood  it; 
and  I  could  understand  its  application  in  no  other 
sense,  for  he  had  repeatedly  promised  to  liquidate  the 
account,  and  I  was  expecting  its  receipt  daily,"  replied 
Mr.  Ewbank,  for  the  purpose  of  removing  all  suspicion 
from  the  mind  of  the  planter,  that  he  had  intentionally 
and  without  authority  appropriated  the  money  to  the 
credit  of  the  schoolmaster;  for  it  was  evident  to  his 
mind,  that  the  planter  had  been  deceived,  in  some 
way,  either  by  Mr.  Bates,  the  schoolmaster,  or  the 
slave,  Tom. 

"  It  is  a  very  remarkable  transaction.  I  repeat,  I 
do  not  understand  it.  I  was  told  that  my  little  blacks 
needed  more  books.  I  was  glad  to  hear  so ;  for  I  sup 
posed  that  they  were  taking  hold  of  their  books,  and 
that  my  plan  wrould  be  successful.  You  are  sure  that 
Tom  got  no  more  books  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  sir.     lie  did  not  make  any  purchase." 

"  Then  I  must  ask  an  explanation  of  Mr.  Bates,  as 
soon  as  I  return  home.  I  can  not,  though,  harbor  the 
thought  that  he  has  purposely  practiced  this  deception 


153 

on  me.  But  I  must  know,"  said  the  planter;  and 
parting  company  with  the  bookseller,  sallied  forth  into 
the  street,  wondering  that  Mr.  Bates  should  be  dis 
posed  to  practice  deception.  He  felt  chagrined  — 
mortified,  that  he  should  be  thus  hoodwinked.  And 
then,  he  did  not  know  how  much  he  had  been  cheated 
about  the  improvement  of  the  children.  He  was  flat 
tering  himself  upon  the  success  of  his  plan  ;  he  had 
confidence  in  the  integrity  and  capacity  of  the  school 
master.  It  was  a  wonder,  therefore,  that  Mr.  Bates 
should  be  inclined  to  use  duplicity.  But  how  the  cheat, 
if  there  had  been  any,  was  played  off,  was  the  greatest 
enigma.  Pie  rather  thought,  after  all,  that  Tom  was 
the  rogue  ;  and  that, perhaps,  he  had  got  "  his  feelings  " 
once  more.  However,  he  should  go  home  again  the 
next  day,  and  then  he  would  solve  the  riddle. 

"  Massa,  I  think  dat  Uncle  Tom  was  here  last  night 
an'  yesterday,"  said  Pompey,  accosting  Mr.  Erskine, 
as  he  came  into  his  room  at  the  hotel. 

"Very  probably,  very  probably;  I  should  not  be 
surprised  now  at  anything  I  may  hear  about  the  black 
rogue.  Did  you  see  him,  Pompey  ?  " 

"  No,  massa,  no." 

"  Mistake,  then,  I  reckon." 

"  No,  massa,  no ;  true.    Arter  more  books,  I  'spose." 

"But,  Pompey,  where  was  he  seen,  and  who  saw 
him  ?  It 's  strange  that  he  should  be  in  town,  and  not 
report  himself  to  me." 

"Sambo,  down  at  de  barn  dar,  told  me  so.  I  told 
him  I  'sposed  not,  'case  I  thought  the  nigger  meant  to 
hoax  me." 


154 

"  Ah  !  it  was  intended  for  a  hoax,  I  have  no  doubt, 
upon  reflection." 

"  Dunno,  dunno,  massa." 

"  You  see  him  again,  and  satisfy  yourself  of  the 
truth  ;  arid,  Pompey,  find  out  his  business  here." 

"  Dunno  how  's  I  can  do  dat.  I  ax'd  the  nigger 
some  particular  questions,  an'  he  would  make  no  an 
swer.  He  know'd  nothin'." 

"Well,  perhaps,  it  was  intended  as  a  jest." 

"  Oh !  no,  massa ;  no  jist.  Pompey  know'd  too 
much  for  dat." 

"  Well,  ask  Sambo  when  Tom  was  here.  I  presume 
he  saw  the  rogue  when  he  was  here  after  the  books. 
And  yet  I  would  like  to  know  that  with  more  certainty. 
Do  this  at  once,  for  we  go  home  to-morrow." 

"  Yes,  massa." 

Pompey  obeyed  the  command  of  his  master,  but 
the  information  that  he  obtained  was  not  satisfactory. 
Sambo  was  ignorant  as  a  dolt. 

Arrived  home  at  the  plantation,  Mr.  Erskine,  as 
eoon  as  convenience  would  permit,  plainly  informed 
Mr.  Bates  of  his  discovery,  and  requested  an  explana 
tion.  It  was  readily  given,  and  so  artlessly,  that  the 
planter  was  disarmed  of  all  suspicion  of  chicanery, 
and  his  confidence  in  the  purity  of  the  schoolmaster's 
motives  remained  unshaken.  The  explanation  resulted 
in  the  conviction  that  the  misappropriation  of  the 
money  was  all  a  blunder  of  Tom's,  and  he  was  repri 
manded  accordingly.  Torn,  in  fact,  in  this  matter, 
acted  in  good  faith.  For  the  schoolmaster  gave  him  a 
line  to  the  bookseller,  and,  as  he  could  not  read,  the 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  155 

contents  were  "  all  Greek  "  to  him.  and  it  is  charitable 
to. suppose  that  he  executed  the  errand  at  the  book 
store  with  intended  correctness.  He  had  other  busi 
ness  to  transact  with  Abe,  the  hostler,  and  meant  to 
cheat  his  master  in  that.  And  whether  he  had  been 
to  Winchester  since,  Mr.  Erskine,  after  the  explana 
tion  of  the  schoolmaster,  evinced  no  desire  to  know. 
Tom  had  made  a  blunder ;  and  the  schoolmaster,  mor 
tified  at  the  occurrence,  ashamed  to  admit  his  indebt 
edness,  and  with  no  money  then  at  his  command,  to 
reimburse  the  planter,  determined  to  make  the  most 
of  it,  and  get  on  at  the  school  with  the  books  which  he 
had  on  hand,  for  the  present.  At  least,  such  was  the 
explanation  to  Mr.  Erskine,  who  was  right  glad  to  hear 
it.  For  he  wanted  the  schoolmaster  to  be  able  to  ex 
plain  ;  he  did  not  wish  his  generous  confidence  abused ; 
he  did  not  wish  to  believe  that  the  schoolmaster  would 
abuse  it ;  and  he  was  truly  rejoiced  to  learn  that  it  was 
not  abused.  He  was  happy,  on  the  whole,  that  he  had 
been  of  service  to  the  schoolmaster,  and  his  disposition 
was  ready  for  a  similar  kindness  at  any  time.  He  was 
more  hoodwinked  than  ever. 

It  had  been  the  custom  of  Mr.  Erskine,  for  many 
years,  to  reward  his  slaves  according  to  the  service 
which  they  rendered.  It  was  paid  to  them,  either  in 
money  or  clothing,  or  such  articles  of  merchandise  as 
might  be  useful.  And  although  it  may  appear  strange, 
nevertheless  true  it  is,  that  each  cabin  of  blacks  had 
its  head,  the  same  as  a  white  family  at  the  North  ;  and 
for  all  ordinary  purposes,  the  head  negro  regarded 
everything  appertaining  to  the  cabin  as  his  own 


156  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

property,  and  used  it  with  all  that  feeling  of  impor 
tance  which  such  an  estimate  of  his  position  would 
naturally  create.  From  the  stipend  periodically  paid 
to  him,  the  slave,  now  and  then,  would  save  enough, 
after  payment  of  his  sundry  little  expenses,  to  redeem 
himself  from  his  bondage ;  and  if  our  memory  serves 
us  correctly,  it  had  so  happened  that,  during  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  several  of  Mr.  Erskine's  blacks  had  pur 
chased  their  freedom.  He,  and  his  father  before  him, 
found  it  to  redound  to  their  interest,  to  hold  out  to  the 
slaves  the  hope  of  reward.  The  slaves  were  more 
faithful  generally,  and  performed  their  labor  with 
greater  promptitude. 

The  next  evening  after  his  return  from  Winchester, 
Mr.  Erskine  was  conversing  with  the  overseer  relative 
to  the  condition  of  the  crops  growing  upon  the  planta 
tion.  The  backwardness  of  the  spring  retarded  the 
work,  yet  the  despatch  with  which  it  had  been  per 
formed  at  the  earliest  opportunity,  and  the  genial 
weather  consequent,  after  all,  contributed  in  the  month 
of  June  to  make  everything  as  forward  as  if  the  winter 
had  left  the  valley  at  its  usual  time.  The  planter  was 
pleased ;  indeed,  more  pleased  than  if  the  season  had 
opened  at  its  wonted  period. 

"  I  think  you  intimated  to  me,"  said  he  to  the  over 
seer,  "  that  Hector's  stipend  ought  to  be  increased." 

"  Such  is  my  opinion,  sir  ;  the  policy  would  be  good." 

"  Why  not  also  to  Caesar  and  Jeff?  " 

"  If  to  them,  it  might  do  harm,  unless  you  extended 
it  further.  The  others  might  be  jealous,  and  lazier  in 
consequence  of  it.  It  would  not  do,  I  fancy,  sir." 


157 

"  Are  they  now  well  supplied  ? " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  sir ;  very  well  indeed." 

"  With  all  that  is  necessary  ?  " 

"  Undoubtedly,  sir.  They  are  healthy,  have  plenty 
to  eat,  and  abundance  of  clothes.  I  heard  Caesar  — 
yes,  Caesar  —  tell  some  of  them,  the  other  day,  that  he 
had  enough  to  last  him  for  a  year." 

"How  is  it  with  the  children  ?" 

"Well  cared  for,  sir;  in  first-best  rig.  Better  than 
the  whites  where  I  come  from," 

"  I  noticed,  when  at  the  quarters  to-day,  that  Dinah 
and  Philisee  looked  more  cleanly  about  their  cabins, 
both  inside  and  out,  than  I  have  seen  them  for 
many  a  day ;  it  seemed  to  me  that  they  were  getting 
ambitious." 

"  Oh  !  it  is  all  in  good  trim  down  there ;  and  they 
took  more  pains  to  whitewash.  The  truth  is,  they 
talk  and  act  as  if  it  was  all  theirs ;  and  it  is  a 
happy  idea  for  them  to  have,  even  if  it  is  fancy  with 
them." 

"  Well,  I  have  concluded  to  increase  the  stipend 
one-third,  until  harvest  is  over." 

"One-third,  sir?" 

"YeS,  ONE-THIRD." 

"  It  will  absolutely  surprise  the  niggers.  Too  much, 
sir  —  too  much  for  their  own  good.  I  would  say  one- 
fourth,  and  try  that  figure  for  awhile." 

"  Why,  I  shall  do  them  much  good,  and  myself  no 
harm." 

"  But,  one-fourth,  sir,  I  beg  leave  to  name." 

"  Why  that  particular  sum  ? " 


158  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  For  no  reason.  I  say  one-fourth  because  you  name 
one-third ;  it  is  better  to  raise  a  little  than  to  fall  off, 
or  even  to  stand  at  the  same  figure." 

"  Oh !  very  good ;  let  it  be  one-fourth,  then ;  and  I 
wish  you  would  communicate  this  news  at  the  quar 
ters  ;  say  that  the  time  will  commence  next  Monday, 
and  be  observed  until  altered,  after  notice  to  them." 

"Yes,  sir;  and  glorious  good  merriment  will  they 
have  over  the  announcement." 

The  overseer,  it  is  needless  to  add,  was  astonished 
at  the  generosity  of  Mr.  Erskine.  He  knew  him  to  be 
a  man  of  noble  impulses,  and  possessed  of  a  heart  full 
of  warm  blood.  But  this  unexpected  favor  to  the 
slaves  raised  him  higher  in  the  estimation  of  tlio 
c  /erseer. 

The  next  day  was  Saturday  ;  and  in  the  evening  the 
overseer  walked  down  to  the  quarters.  He  expected 
to  find  the  slaves  in  a  frolic,  and  was  not  disappointed. 
Jeff  was  at  the  height  of  his  ambition,  using  his  fiddle 
and  bow  with  uncommon  agility.  It  can  not  be  said 
that  the  music  was  more  melodious  ;  and,  indeed,  the 
tones  which  the  instrument  made  indicated  that  rosin 
was  scarce,  or  else  the  fiddler  was  in  so  great  a  hurry 
that  he  could  not  consent  to  stop  long  enough  to  draw 
it  across  the  bow.  He  had  contrived  to  elevate  himself 
on  a  pedestal,  sufficiently  high  to  enable  him  to  over 
look  the  whole  company  —  bringing  an  old  salt  barrel 
into  requisition  for  that  purpose.  He  entered  more 
into  the  spirit  of  the  merriment  than  was  his  habit. 
His  head  inclined  to  the  right,  and  then  to  the  left  — 
oscillating  like  a  pendulum.  Neither  were  his  eyes 


159 

partly  shut,  as  was  his  wont ;  but  were  distended  wide 
open,  and  fairly  sparkled  with  their  brilliancy.  His 
whole  soul  was  brirnfull  of  the  sport,  and  his  frolicking 
companions  danced  more  to  the  time  beaten  by  his 
right  foot,  than  to  the  cadence  of  the  fiddle. 

Caesar  and  Hector  was  there,  at  the  tip-top  of  fun. 
Philisee,  Hector's  wife,  was  there ;  and  she  danced, 
and  sung,  and  laughed,  and  fairly  scraped  the  floor 
with  her  long  feet — which,  by  the  way,  protruded  so 
far  in  the  rear  of  her  ankle  joints  that  they  lost  their 
resemblance  to  other  feet  of  the  human  kind,  and  could 
not  with  propriety  be  called  by  that  name  in  its  ordi 
nary  acceptation  —  we  do  say  that  she  shuffled  so  rap 
idly,  and  come  down  so  hard,  that  the  jig  or  reel  which 
was  on  the  tapis  when  the  overseer  arrived,  terminated 
in  a  contest  between  her  and  Jeff — whether  the  former 
could  dance  as  fast  as  the  latter  could  fiddle;  which 
bet  could  not  be  decided,  for  both  stopped  at  the  same 
instant  precisely. 

"Wha'  stop  for,  Jeff?"  cried  out  the  negress,  almost 
out  of  breath,  "rosin  up,  an'  at  urn  agin.1' 

"Golly,  Phili!  "  said  Jeff,  "hold  urn  up  — hold  11111 
to  take  breath;  golly!  you  almost  too  much  for  this 
nigger,"  wiping  away  the  perspiration  from  his  fore 
head  and  face. 

"  Rosin  up  agin,  ole  nigger !  The  spirit  is  on  me," 
she  replied,  and  began  to  shuffle  her  feet  again,  singing 
a  ditty  to  keep  time  by.  The  others  joined  her,  and 
the  company  were,  in  a  jiff,  under  full  headway.  Jeff* 
could  not  remain  idle  on  such  an  occasion,  and  the  old 
violin  rang  forth  sonorous  notes,  so  loud  and  thrilling 


160  LIFjE   AT    THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

that  the  negroes  themselves  were  taken  all  aback,  and 
stopped  of  a  sudden  in  amazement. 

"Wha'  all  'bout  dar?"  veiled  the  fiddler,  "neber  do 
for  you  niggers  to  run  dis  ole  music-maker  off  de 
track.  Up  an'  at  it  agin,"  he  added,  and  drew  the  bow 
swifter  than  before. 

Hector  was  not  to  be  beaten  at  the  dance,  any  more 
than  in  the  cornfield  ;  and  he  at  once  settled  himself 
into  an  old  fashioned  Virginia  reel,  and  the  way  he 
made  the  dust  fly  that  had  lain  between  the  cracks  of 
the  floor-boards  for  years,  was  perfectly  astonishing  to 
his  laughing,  giggling,  jolly,  roistering  companions. 

"  Lay  it  —  lay  it  on,  Jeff,''  said  Csesar,  who  was  en 
joying  the  scene  at  the  heighth  of  delight,  "  gib  it 
good.  Spur  up  your  ole  grinder :  draw  um  tight." 

"  Neber  tire  —  neber  tire  um, 
Fi-yi-ya,  it  te  oot  te  doodle  dum," 

said  and  sung  the  fiddler ;  and  so  Hector  jumped, 
shuffled,  stamped,  and  " pirouetted ',"  for  full  five  min 
utes  after  the  rosin  gave  out ;  then,  for  some  reason 
that  was  not  quite  apparent  to  the  lookers-on,  he 
stopped  and  looked  around  in  amazement. 

"  Yas,  ole  feller  gib  um  up  !  "  he  exclaimed.  UD'  ye  ? 
Ha!  ha!  hum!  I  can  jig  you  to  next  week,  if  you 
mind  to  come!"  he  added,  kicking  up  his  heels.  "Gib 
us  some  more.  Here,  Poinpey,  fetch  on  Lucinda,  an' 
you,  Philisee — wha',  out  of  de  ring  !  Ha,  ha,  7iaio — - 
hst!  list!  come,  you  dark  copper  skin,  gib  us  your 
hand.  Jehu  jehimminy!  Well,  dance  agin  the  sun, 
moon,  and  stars  of  night!  Strike  up  your  ole  mut:ic, 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  161 

hoss,  dar !  an'  Philisee  an'  dis  ole  nigger  will  shin  um 
into  week  arter  last!"  said  Hector,  and  pulling  Phili 
see  into  the  proper  position,  they  commenced  to  trip 
the  "  light  fantastic  toe,"  preparatory  to  another  scrub 
race  with  the  violin. 

"You  don't  cotch  inn  agin,"  said  Jeff,  shaking  his 
head.  "  No,  no,  no ;  enough  of  it.  Take  your  part 
ners  all  'round,  an'  I  Jll  make  my  ole  hoss  gib  you  some 
lubly  music." 

"Wha'dat?" 

"No  more  joggling;  steady  um  now:  dance  to 
time,  and  do  n't  git  ahead.  It  puts  um  out.  Steady." 

"  Berry  good  :  rosin  up  slow,  an'  take  your  time,  now 
ole  hoss,"  said  Hector,  and  danced  at  "all  fours,"  the 
company  humming — 

"  0  what  lubly  eyes  hab  she, 
Dey  always  shine  so  clearly  — 
She  says  she  lubs  no  nig  but  me, 
An'  me  she  lubs  sincerely. 

The  lubly  gal  libs  in  our  town, 

An'  all  you  niggers  knows  her  ; 

Her  teeth  aint  black,  her  complexion  brown, 

Her  name  am  lubly  Rosa." 

"Gemmen,"  said  the  overseer  after  they  had  en 
joyed  this  long  enough  to  satisfy  any  reasonable  mind, 
"  I  have  something  important  to  communicate,  if  you 
will  only  listen  to  me." 

"Sa?"  said  Jeff. 

"  Stop,  and  I  will  tell  you  some  good  news." 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 


102  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"Your  stipend  is  raised  one-fourth,  until  notice  to 
the  contrary." 

"  One-fourth  ! "  they  all  exclaimed. 

"  Yes,  one-fourth.  Mr.  Erskine  so  orders  me,  and  I 
am  glad  to  give  you  the  information." 

"  Good  massa  —  good  massa !  " 

"  The  time  commences  running  next  Monday.  So 
find  no  fault  hereafter,  if  you  do  your  duty." 

"Good  massa. —  good  massa!"  all  again  exclaimed, 
their  faces  beaming  with  exultation.  Uncle  Tom  came 
in  just  in  season  to  hear  the  intelligence.  He  did  not 
relish  it.  He  was  fearful  of  the  effect  it  might  have 
upon  the  league,  which  was  uppermost  in  his  mind,  and 
"  his  all  in  all."  And  the  overseer  had  hardly  con 
cluded  when  he  told  Dinah  that  it  was  time  for  them  to 
go  to  the  cabin. 

"No,  no,  Tom ;  I  'm  gwine  to  see  Philisee  an'  Hec 
tor  reel  off  once  more — they  do  it  so  nicely.  Tom, 
what  d  'ye  saj  •  " 

"Dunno,  Dinah,"  he  answered  very  cheerlessly, 
"  dunno." 

"  Wha',  Tom,  out  of  sorts  agin  ?  Pshaw  !  do  n't  hang 
your  head  so:  come,  you  an'  Dinah  shall  have  a  jig 
together." 

"  No,  Dinah,  I  'm  too  old  for  dat.  I  'm  gwine  to 
the  cabin.  Come  with  me,"  said  Uncle  Tom  sharply, 
and,  like  an  affectionate  and  dutiful  wife,  Dinah  ob 
served  the  wish  of  her  husband,  and  they  withdrew  to 
the  cabin, —  the  one  melancholy  from  anticipated  dis 
appointment,  and  the  other  miserable  in  consequence, 
as  any  loving  wife  would  be. 


UNCLE    TOM'S   CABIN    AS    IT    IS.  163 

Not  so  with  the  others.  Hilarity  with  them  struck 
on  a  higher  key.  Their  very  souls  leaped  with  joy : 
their  hearts  abounded  with  gratitude  ;  and  various  were 
the  expressions  of  thanks  for  this  surprise.  Uncon 
scious  of  deserving  this  increased  favor  of  their  master, 
they  imputed  it  entirely  to  a  warm,  lofty  generosity ; 
and  the  chain  which  held  them  to  the  plantation  ap 
peared  in  a  different  aspect.  They  forgot  bondage,  and 
enjoyed  freedom  there.  If  our  reader  had  passed 
along  the  highway,  which  skirted  the  green,  Tie  would 
have  been  surprised,  also,  to  see  how  jovial  they  passed 
the  hour;  and,  perhaps,  would  have  wondered  at  that 
matchless  and  enduring  order  of  Providence  which 
dispenses,  in  its  wisdom,  favors  to  mankind,  most  curi 
ously  graduated  to  all  lots,  minds,  inclinations,  and 
dispositions.  And  if  he  was  a  philanthropist,  those 
chords  of  sympathy  which  permeate  the  heart  of  such  a 
being,  would  have  been  attuned  by  this  unexpected 
revelation  of  one  of  the  happy  phases  in  the  life  of  the 
slave  ;  and  involuntarily  he  would  have  joined  in  the 
chorus,  as  Hector  and  his  jolly  companions  danced  to 
tho  music,  which,  time  and  again  for  years,  had  made 
the  hills  and  dells  of  Virginia  vocal  with  its  merry 
notes. 


164:  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  J    OR 


CHAPTER  X. 

INDEPENDENCE    DAY. 

"  Let  India  boast  her  groves,  nor  envy  we, 
The  weeping  amber  and  the  balmy  tree." 

On  the  day  following  the  increase  of  the  wages,  Mr. 
Bates,  it  being  Sunday,  went  down  to  the  river  to 
bathe.  He  unexpectedly  met  Uncle  Tom  in  the  lane, 
with  a  downcast  look.  Pie  spoke  to  the  slave  famil 
iarly,  who,  although  he  stopped,  did  not  seem  inclined 
to  talk.  He  was  cross,  and  ill  humor  stood  out  in  bold 
relief  upon  his  countenance. 

u  Nothing  of  importance  has  happened  to  you?" 
half  inquired  the  schoolmaster,  fearful  that  something 
had  gone  wrong  in  their  league,  and  rather  preferring 
not  to  hear  it,  though  he  would  not  wish  to  remain  in 
ignorance. 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  You  do  n't  know  ? " 

The  slave  shook  his  head,  and  was  proceeding  for 
ward. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  165 

"But  stop,  Tom.  I  am  suspicious  that  there  is 
something  out  of  sorts.  Tell  me,"  again  asked  the 
schoolmaster,  beginning  to  be  anxious,  lest  the  desire 
for  freedom  was  abating. 

"  Lor,  mass'r,  I  >m  afeerd  dat  we  am  blow'd  up." 

"  Pray  let  me  know." 

"  The  niggers  are  recanting !  " 

"  Recanting !  recanting,  Tom  ?  It  can  not  be.  It 
was  too  solemnly  agreed  to  stand  together." 

"Dat  rascal  of  a  Hector  is  playing  de  devil  wid 
urn.  He  's  traitor." 

"  What  is  it  you  say  ?  Has  he  dirulged  the  secret 
to  Mr.  Erskine  ?  Tell  me,  Tom." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  Oh  !  but  you  do  know,  Tom.  Out  with  it.  I  see 
you  have  something  on  your  mind.  It  is  always  best 
for  friends  to  be  free  to  each  other." 

'Wages  are  more,  an'  de  niggers  are  loud  in  their 
praise  of  massa.  Do  n't  want  to  go  North,  I  'm 
afeerd,"  replied  the  slave,  and  he  proceeded  to  give 
the  schoolmaster  all  the  particulars. 

Mr.  Bates  was  alarmed.  The  secret  might  get  out, 
and  then,  what  would  become  of  him?  He  hurried 
to  the  water,  and  as  sood  os  he  had  finished  his 
ablution,  he  repaired  to  the  mansion.  He  met  Mr. 
Erskine  in  the  lawn,  and  stopped  to  converse  with  him. 
There  was  no  indication  of  any  change  in  his  senti 
ments  toward  the  schoolmaster.  Cordial  and  familiar 
as  ever — so  much  so  that  Mr.  Bates'  mind  was  some 
what  relieved.  He  concluded  that  the  league  was 
known  only  to  those  engaged  in  it,  and  that,  if  he 


166  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

availed  himself  of  the  first  opportunity  to  paint  anew 
the  miraculous  glories  of  freedom  to  the  slaves,  it 
would  all  go  right  again.  He  went  to  his  chamber, 
and  looked  over  toward  the  quarters,  but  saw  none  of 
the  blacks,  except  some  of  the  children  on  the  green. 
He  was  uneasy  and  restless,  notwithstanding  the  un 
changed  demeanor  of  the  planter.  If  satisfied  in  his 
own  mind  that  the  secret  was  safely  kept,  still,  the  fear 
of  discovery  haunted  him ;  and  perhaps  that  monitor 
within  —  sometimes  called  conscience  —  was  suggest 
ing  the  wrong  that  would  be  inflicted,  if  the  plot  was 
not  exploded.  He  put  his  head  out  of  the  window, 
and  saw  Lucinda  scouring  knives,  and,  feigning  to  be 
unwell,  asked  for  a  cup  of  tea  to  be  brought  into  the 
chamber. 

"  Is  Mr.  Bates  sick  ? "  asked  the  planter  of  Lucinda, 
as  she  came  down  the  stairway. 

"  Yes,  massa,  berry  sick,  I  tink ;  pain  in  de  heaof, — 
bones  ache." 

The  planter  immediately  went  up  to  the  chamber, 
and  proposed  to  send  to  Millwood  for  a  physician. 
This  the  schoolmaster  declined,  as  he  thought  —  so  he 
said  —  that  he  should  feel  better  next  day:  especial 
ly  if  he  could  be  quiet.  The  planter  took  the  hint, 
and  renewing  the  offer  of  his  kind  services,  left  the 
schoolmaster  to  himself,  and  directed  Pompey  occa 
sionally  go  to  the  chamber. 

The  time  for  the  meeting  of  the  blacks  at  Abe's  barn, 
in  Winchester,  was  rapidly  approaching.  It  was  now 
the  second  day  of  July,  and  on  the  evening  of  the 
fourth,  they  were  to  meet,  And  although  the  interval 


167 

was  short,  such  was  the  anxiety  of  the  schoolmaster 
to  be  away,  that  it  looked  long  to  him.  He  reflected 
upon  the  chances  of  detection,  in  every  point  of  view, 
and  finally  flattered  himself  that  it  would  come  out 
safe  in  the  end,  and  became  more  quiet.  He  was  con 
valescent  the  next  day,  and  was  at  the  school  as  usual. 

The  increased  stipend,  in  the  meantime,  did  its 
work.  Hector,  Caesar,  and  Jeff,  lost  the  desire  for 
change  of  position,  and  abandoned  the  idea  of  going 
to  the  State  of  Freedom.  They  neither  saw  nor  felt  the 
chains  of  slavery.  They  were  at  work,  thinking  of 
Independence  on  the  morrow,  instead  of  getting  ready 
for  the  stampede,. 

"Is  dis  your  last  hoeing?"  asked  Caesar  of  Uncle 
Tom,  who  lagged,  and  moved  as  if  he  was  carrying 
upon  his  shoulders  the  years  of  Methuselah. 

"Dunno,  nigger." 

"  You  cover  up  hills  so  deep,  dat  I'm  'sposing  you 
'spect  it  was  for  the  last." 

"  Oh  !  get  out,  you  saucy  col'd  man." 

"  Wha',  Uncle  Tom,  cross  —  cross,  you  'spects  to  be 
gwine  to  Winchester  in  de  morning?  I  'spects  not." 

"Wha' dat?" 

"Dis  nigger  don't  make  fool  of  himself,  I  can  tell 
you.  Pshaw!  Talk 'bout  massa!  You  am  a  dunce, 
Uncle  Tom." 

"Ho,  ho,  Caesar!  smooth  now:  all  good.  Well,  I 
always  'sposed  you'd  stick  to  your  word,  but  de  school- 
mass'r  talked  dat  some  of  you  would  be  bought  up ; 
and  it  am  so.  You  are  bought  up  —  goll  darn  you 
ole  wool ! " 


168  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  Stop  your  jaw,  you  ole,  crazy  fool.  "No  sauce  to 
dis  nigger,  or  I'll  show  you  de  way  to  next  week,  in 
a  jiff."' 

"  Bail  on — jaw  away.  It 's  all  you  're  good  for.  You 
aint  fit  for  freedom.  You  do  n't  know  how  to  be  your 
own  mass'r.  No,  you  do  n't :  dat  am  a  fact.  I  hopes 
you  '11  stay  where  you  ar',  an'  be  a  low,  dirty,  good-for- 
nothing  slave." 

"  Jist  remark  dat  agin,"  said  Caesar,  dropping  his 
hoe,  and  raising  his  arm  in  such  an  attitude,  that  made 
it  apparent  he  intended  to  use  his  fist.  "Jist  spoke  it 
agin',  an' —  an  I  '11  gib  you  a  lesson  on  manners,  you 
lazy,  bad-looking  nigger." 

Caesar  was  too  warlike,  and  Uncle  Tom  staggered 
back  a  step  or  two. 

"  I  shall  not  fight  wid  you,  Caesar.  If  you  are  de 
termined  to  stay  an'  die  on  dis  plantation,  so  —  dat 's 
all  I  'm  gwine  to  speak  to  you." 

"  Yas,  I  go  into  the  ground  here." 

"  But  'spose  massa  takes  it  into  his  head  to  sell  you 
off,  to  raise  money,  or  sich  like.  I  calculates  you  be 
buried  up  somewhar  else." 

"  Do  n't  you  fret  your  ole  soul  'bout  dat.  It  will  be 
time  enough  when  dat  event  occurs,  to  meditate  upon 
a  stampede." 

"  Oli,  ho!  you  ca  n't  stampede  when  your  disposition 
says  so.  Dat 's  de  difference  between  freedom  an' 
slavery.  If  you  was  in  de  free  country,  you  could  do 
as  you  might  please ;  but  you  must  calculate  dat  you 
would  be  watched  by  de  ole  massa,  whoever  it  might 
be,  an'  no  schoolmas'r  to  take  your  hand  an'  lead  you 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  169 

off,  as  is  de  case  now.  Ah,  ha !  think  of  dat  side  of 
de  picture,  Caesar." 

" Pshaw!  pshaw!  Uncle  Tom.  You  are  always 
borrowing  trouble;  you  forget  dat  de  schoolmas'r 
said  dat,  whar  dar  was  a  will,  dar  was  always  a  way." 

"  Oh  !  nigger,  nigger !  how  am  you  to  run  into  free 
dom,  wid  no  one  to  help  you  ?  'T  is  unpossible,  Caesar ; 
now  is  de  only  chance." 

"  JVIumbo  jumbo  —  hobgoblins,  Uncle  Tom.  I  repeat 
um  once  more  to  you,  dat  I  does  not  wish  to  be  guine 
off  from  dis  plantation  foreber.  I  goes  to  Millwood 
to-morrow,  to  celebrate  Independence." 

"  Did  massa  or  overseer  say  you  might? " 

"  Yes,  nigger,  an'  I  'm  guine,  too ;  we  are  all  guine." 

"Well,  I  shall  go  to  "Winchester,  an'  do  jist  as  I 
agreed.  If  you  wish  to  stumble,  you  can." 

"Is  Dinah  guine  wid  you?" 

"  Yas,  she  is  ;  an'  children,  too." 

"Then  she  fibs." 

"You  bin  talkin'  to  her,  Csesar? " 

"  I  knows  she  lubs  massa  too  strong  for  dat." 

"  Csesar,  I  'm  guine  to  ax  you  one  question." 

"  Well,  ax  it,  Uncle  Tom." 

"  Have  you  poached  dis  ting  to  living  mortal  ?  " 

"  No,  nor  dead  one  either." 

"Are  you  guine  to  do  dat?" 

"  Dunno." 

"  Dunno !     Dunno,  Csesar?  " 

"Dat's  jistum." 

"If  I  'spos'd  you  would  do  dat,  I  would  — I 
would » 


1TO  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  Out  with  it." 

"Kill  yon!  dar,  you  know'd  my  feelings  now." 
""You  hab  spoke  urn,  Uncle  Tom.     Now  do  it,  for 
it  will  be  too  late  by  an'  by." 

"  You  would  be  a  d — d  rascal  den,  Caesar." 

"Uncle  Tom  spoke  sicli  hard  word,  an'  den  go  an' 
pray  in  meetin',  ha!" 

"  You  distress  me,  Caesar  ;  you  talk  so." 

"  Dat  conscience  you  hab  got,  is  what  does  dat  job  ; 
it  smites  you  right  an'  left.  Da  's  it." 

•"  Go  away  —  go  away,  Caesar,  I  hates  you;  I  hates 
you !  from  my  soul,  I  hates  you  !  " 

"  Dar  's  no  use  of  talking  to  dis  nigger  —  ha  !  haw ! 
haw  !  Fireproof  to  all  your  dirty  artillery  —  ha  !  haw ! 
haw ! " 

"  I  'm  off,  Caesar,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  and  throwing 
his  hoe  under  the  fence,  left  for  his  dinner.  Pretty 
soon  all  left,  it  being  noontime,  and  the  overseer 
remarking  that  they  need  not  come  to  the  field  in  the 
afternoon. 

It  was  twenty-four  hours  afterward,  when  Caesar  and 
Uncle  Tom  again  met.  The  former  was  rigged  up  for 
celebrating,  in  a  becoming  manner,  the  anniversary  of 
the  nation's  liberty  ;  whilst  the  latter  thought  he  was 
ready,  u  fully  armed  and  equipped,"  to  achieve  Ids 
own  liberty.  They  were  both  of  them  mounted  upon 
horses.  Uncle  Tom  had  a  large  pair  of  saddle-bags, 
stuffed  to  the  full  with  eatables  and  clothing,  fastened 
to  the  saddle.  Caesar  rode  bareback.  And  although 

& 

one  rode  in  stirrups,  with  a  good  bridle  and  crupper, 
and  saddle-cloth,  the  difference  in  the  caparison  of  the 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  171 

several  horses  was  not  half  as  striking,  as  the  contrast 
in  their  own  visage  and  personal  conduct. 

Caesar  had  on  a  coat  made  a  la  militaire,  with  one 
row  of  small,  white  pewter  buttons,  and  collar  intended 
to  stand  in  a  perpendicular  position.  The  main  mate 
rial  of  the  garment  appeared  to  be  red  flannel,  with 
white  lappels,  while  underneath  he  wore  a  pair  of 
pantaloons  of  white  jean.  He  had  dispensed  with 
shoes,  boots,  and  slippers,  and  stockings  and  socks  ;  but 
his  head  was  protected  from  the  burning  sun  by  a  high 
round  covering,  made  out  of  stiff  leather  —  very  highly 
varnished  —  and  surmounted  with  a  red  feather ;  there 
was  a  remnant  of  a  cockade  stitched  on  to  this  head 
gear,  and  there  hung  dangling  by  his  side  a  wooden 
sword  —  save  the  sharp  end,  which  was  tipped  with 
tinfoil.  He  sat  astride  the  horse  as  erect  as  the  cir 
cumstances  would  admit  of,  and  looked,  and,  we  have 
no  doubt,  felt  independent.  Uncle  Tom,  on  the  con 
trary,  wore  the  dress  of  a  private  citizen.  His  coat 
and  pantaloons  were  "the  worse  for  wear,"  and  as  for 
his  hat,  it  lacked  rim  and  head  top  —  so  much  so,  that 
the  motion  created  by  the  gait  of  the  beast  he  rode, 
made  it  quite  difficult  for  him  to  keep  it  above  his 
eyes.  He  had  on  a  pair  of  boots,  it  is  true,  but  his 
heels  came  up  nearly  in  the  middle  of  the  legs,  or 
rather,  to  speak  more  accurately,  "  he  wore  the  boots 
on  the  heels."  He  crouched  in  the  seat  of  the  saddle, 
and,  every  now  and  then,  would  cast  a  furtive  glance 
back  over  the  road,  as  if  he  was  afraid  he  might  per 
ceive  something  disagreeable  to  the  eyes.  He  looked 
and  acted  anything  but  independent. 


172  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  I  seed  you,  ole  fellar ! "  halloed  Caesar  to  Uncle 
Tom,  as  he  was  riding  by  an  inn,  at  which  the  former 
stopped  "to  water"  his  horse;  "hold  your  hoss,  an' 
I  '11  spoke  to  you." 

Uncle  Tom  saw  Caesar  before  he  spoke,  and  in 
tended  to  pass  without  attracting  his  attention.  But, 
lest  the  latter  should  halloo  again,  he  reined  up  his 
beast  to  the  trough,  and  begged  the  red-coat  not  to 
notice  him. 

"  Dunno  'bout  dat,  Uncle  Tom.     I  'm  no  scapegoat." 

"Pshaw!  nigger;  wha'  you  to  do  wid  me?  Let 
me  go  unmolested.  If  you  meant  to  keep  me  here, 
you  ought  to  have  let  out  the  secret;  den  you  would 
not  seed  me  now." 

"  Dunno  'bout  dat  either,  Uncle  Tom.  I  did  n't 
'spose  dat  you  would  go  off  alone." 

"  How  do  you  know  wha'  you  speaking  of?  " 

"  Golly  !  ar'  de  rest  on  um  in  de  boat  ?  " 

"  Dis  nigger  makes  no  answer." 

"  Golly  !  guine  in  separate  roads,  ha  ?  " 

"  Pshaw,  Csesar !  hold  your  tongue,  an'  make  no 
outcry." 

"  Ah,  ha !  do  you  saw  dis  instrument  ? "  pointing 
to  his  sword.  "  D'  ye  seed  um,  Uncle  Tom  ? " 

"  Well,  you  ar'  no  officer." 

"  I  'm  officer  enough  for  you." 

"Git  out,  you  scapegrace." 

"  Wha'  dat  you  say?  No  officer,  ha?  I'll  seed  to 
dat.  You  ar'  my  prisoner,"  said  Csesar,  very  authori 
tatively,  and,  at  the  same  time,  tapping  him  on  the 
shoulder  with  his  hand.  "  You  ar'  my  prisoner ;  an,  I 


173 

command  you  to  touch  the  ground,  with  them  feet  of 
yours,  instantly  —  instantly." 

"  I  'm  dam'd  if  I  do  dat !  "  replied  Uncle  Tom,  and 
tightening  the  rein  of  the  bridle,  undertook  to  sheer 
the  horse  from  the  watering  place. 

"  Hold  your  Loss,  you  old  sinner !  You  do  n't  get 
off  in  dis  way ;  you  ar'  in  de  clutches  of  de  law.  I 
once  more  command  you  to  lift  that  leg  of  yours  over 
de  saddle-pommel,  an'  touch  ground,  or  I  '11  make  you. 
Mind  your  reckoning,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Caesar,  in  a 
much  louder  and  imperious  tone  of  voice,  and  unsheath 
ing  his  sword,  elevated  it  at  an  angle  of  about  forty- 
five  degrees. 

"Why,  Caesar,  you  guine  to  murder  dis  nigger? 
Unpossible ! " 

"  You  seed  urn,  do  you  ?  "  said  Caesar,  holding  up 
the  sword  higher  than  before. 

"  Wha1  you  guine  to  do  ?     Be  merciful !  " 

"  Look  at  um.  I  gib  you  five  minutes  to  surrender 
as  my  prisoner  ;  and  den,  if  you  are  not  on  de  ground,  I 
shall  put  my  order  into  execution,  according  to  de  law." 

"  Csesar,  dar  is  my  jack-knife;  I  gibs  um  freely  to 
you.  Take  de  gift,  an'  let  poor  Tom  go  his  way." 

"No,  sir  —  no,  sir !     You  can't  bribe  me." 

"  Pshaw !  Caesar,  take  um  to  remember  me  by." 

"  De  debbil  take  your  gift !  I  '11  hab  a  bigger  one.  I 
takes  de  body ;  an'  as  for  your  soul,  I  do  n't  think  you  can 
hab  one,  an'  run  away  from  massa  like  a  dirty  thief." 

"  I  do  n't  know  dat  de  rest  of  them  will  be  at  de 
barn ;  if  not,  dis  nigger  is  not  guine  off  North  alone. 
Let  me  go  without  disturbance." 


174:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OK 

"  Neither  do  I  know  whether  de  rest  of  them  will 
go  off.  But  I  knows  dat  you  will  not  go  off;  dat 's 
certain,  ole  fellar.  So,  down.  You  had  better  look 
out.  You  seed  urn,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Caesar,  brand 
ishing  his  sword. 

"  "Well,  if  I  must  surrender,  I  '11  not  do  it  willingly," 
replied  the  runaway  ;  and  suddenly  spurring  his  horse 
with  both  heels,  bounded  away  from  the  trough,  with 
Caesar  after  him,  on  a  full  run,  and  crying  out  "stop 
thief  1 "  as  loud  as  he  could  yell. 

Uncle  Tom's  beast  was  a  fast  traveler,  and  of  sure 
foot  and  bottom.  Its  excess  of  speed  over  the  animal 
that  Caesar  rode,  gradually  widened  the  distance  be 
tween  them,  and  the  fugitive  was  soon  out  of  sight. 
Caesar  did  not  care  about  riding  quite  so  fast,  and  he 
slackened  the  gait  of  his  horse,  and  took  the  road  more 
leisurely.  Shortly  before  he  reached  the  place  of  his 
destination, —  which  was  no  other  than  the  village  of 
Millwood  —  he  ascended  a  hill,  and  upon  attaining  its 
summit,  he  descried  far  ahead  the  fugitive.  Caesar 
gave  up  the  chase,  and  dismounting,  reposed  himself 
for  awhile  in  the  "  bar-room  "  of  another  inn. 

As  Uncle  Tom  passed  through  the  village  of  Mill 
wood,  he  saw  the  people  assembling  in  large  numbers 
upon  the  common ;  the  boys  were  firing  their  crack 
ers;  and  wagons  and  carts,  overflowing  wTith  beer, 
cakes,  and  fruit,  stood  upon  almost  every  corner  of  the 
streets.  The  multitude  —  old  and  young,  without  dis 
tinction  of  color  —  seemed  to  be  at  the  height  of  en 
joyment.  "The  spirit  of  the  olden  time"  came  o'er 
the  fugitive,  and  he  was  half-inclined  to  stop  and 


1T5 

participate,  as  he  had  been  wont  to  do,  in  the  festivities 
of  the  occasion.  His  beast  was  fully  inclined  to  do  so  ; 
and,  in  a  trice,  Uncle  Tom  found  himself  involuntarily 
among  his  old  associates,  some  of  whom  he  had  not 
seen  for  a  year. 

"  Why,  how  d'  ye  do  ?  "  said  a  broad-nosed,  gray- 
haired,  limping  old  negro  to  him  ;  "  how  hab  you  kept 
yourself,  Tom,  sin'  I  seed  yon  last?  " 

"  Lackaday,  lackaday  !  " 

"Wha' — wha'  de  matter?  Tom's  well,  I  hope. 
Come,  off  from  de  ole  hoss,  an'  tie  um  np,  over  by  de 
church.  We  '11  hab  fun  enough  to-day." 


"  I  'm  guine  to  Winchester." 


"To  Winchester!  Wha'  on  arth  takes  you  dar? 
Pooh!  it  is  too  late  for  you  to  go  in  time.  Besides, 
you  know,  nobody  dar.  Pshaw!  dis  is  de  place. 
Come,  I  was  jist  buying  a  bottle  of  ginger-pop,  as  you 
rode  up ;  make  your  ole  beast  fast,  an'  we  will  enjoy 
it  together." 

Uncle  Tom  shook  his  head,  and  began  to  make  his 
way  out  of  the  crowd  which  had  already  gathered 
about  him. 

"You  're  not  going  to  get  away  from  here,  ole  fellar. 
I  was  thinking  of  you,  Tom  —  I  was,  Tom — jist  as  I 
had  a  glimpse  of  you  on  de  common.  We  shall  miss 
you,  if  you  go  on.  So,  take  my  advice,  an'  hitch  de 
beast  at  any  of  the  posts  over  dar." 

"I  'in  thinking  of  freedom,"  said  Uncle  Tom, 
gravely. 

"Exactly;  and,  of  all  places,  dis  is  de  spot  for  cli-'t. 
The  Millwood  boys  can't  be  beat." 


176  LIFE   AT  THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"No,  my  ole  friend,"  rejoined  the  fugitive,  again 
shaking  his  head,  and  looking  very  solemn;  "no,  no; 
I  hab  business  at  Winchester,  an'  must  be  on  the  road." 

""Well,  drink  off  de  ginger-pop  wid  me;  dat  you  can 
do,"  replied  the  old  negro ;  and  handing  him  a  tumbler 
running  over  with  the  foam  of  the  beer,  Uncle  Tom 
drank  hastily.  The  beverage  was  sufficiently  strong  to 
revive,  after  a  few  moments,  the  nagging  spirits  of  the 
fugitive.  He  soon  became  more  loquacious  and  social, 
and  dismounting,  a  boy,  at  the  suggestion  of  the  old 
negro,  led  the  horse  away,  and  Uncle  Tom  soon  was 
beset  with  many  of  his  old  friends,  who  had  come  to 
the  village  to  indulge,  unrestrained,  in  the  frolic  of 
Independence  day. 

A  platform  was  erected  near  the  center  of  the  com 
mon,  covered  over,  at  the  heighth  of  some  ten  feet,  by 
an  awrning,  upon  which  the  immortal  Declaration  was 
to  be  read,  and  an  oration  pronounced.  As  the  time 
appointed  for  these  exercises  drew  near,  the  people? 
who  were  collected  in  small  assemblages  in  different 
parts  of  the  village,  began  to  wend  their  way  thither. 
They  did  not  march  in  procession,  to  the  music  of  fife 
and  drum,  but  walked,  scrambled,  and  ran,  to  the  roar 
of  the  artillery  stationed  at  the  platform,  as  gun  after 
gun  was  discharged,  in  honor  of  the  stars  and  stripes 
which  floated  in  the  breeze  above  the  awning. 

Uncle  Tom  and  his  coterie,  moved  by  the  patriotism 
common  to  the  rest  of  the  people,  made  their  way  to 
the  center  also.  A  gentleman  designated  for  the  duty, 
read  very  impressively  the  great  charter  of  American 
liberty ;  and  he  was  listened  to  with  profound  attention 


177 

by  the  spectators.  The  orator  succeeded  him,  and 
received  the  applause  of  the  auditory ;  but  Uncle  Tom 
and  his  companions  grew  weary  of  the  discourse. 
Whether  they  had  patronised  the  wagons  and  carts 
too  freely  to  remain,  or  whether  it  was  the  inaptitude 
of  their  minds  to  appreciate  the  glowing  sentiments 
and  brilliant  ideas  with  which  the  oration  abounded, 
may  be  problematical.  At  any  rate,  they  left  the  plat 
form.  Caesar,  who  in  the  meantime  had  arrived,  hap 
pened  to  discover  Uncle  Tom  as  he  was  going  across 
the  common,  and  followed  in  the  same  direction.  As 
he  came  up  to  him,  he  hailed  him  as  his  prisoner.  To 
this  the  fugitive  demurred,  and  his  companions  took 
his  part. 

"  Well,  if  you  hab  made  up  your  mind  to  stay  wid 
massa,  den  you  're  not  my  prisoner,"  said  Csesar,  with 
considerable  emphasis. 

"  Pshaw ! "  exclaimed  the  old  negro.  "  Dat  nigger," 
pointing  to  Uncle  Tom,  "  had  a  notion  of  guine  to 
Winchester,  to  celebrate  ;  but  he  gibs  um  up.  Is  not 
dat  so,  Tom  ?  " 

"Yas." 

"  An'  here  we  ar'.     Come,  Csesar,  an'  join  us." 

"  Dat 's  it.  "  I  'm  glad  to  hear  him  say  so ;  an1  we 
will  go  home  in  company." 

As  this  squad  reached  a  booth  hard  by,  they  heard 
the  music  of  the  fiddle  and  the  banjo,  and  elbowing 
through  the  crowd,  saw  several  enjoying  the  luxury 
of  a  dance.  Csesar,  and  some  of  the  others,  partici 
pated  in  the  amusement,  which,  together  with  an  occa 
sional  bottle  of  beer,  made  the  sport  very  exhilarating. 


178  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

After  awhile,  dancing  became  tame,  and  all  were 
uproarious  for  a  song' — -a  good  old  song. 

"  An"1  let  it  be  one  fit  for  to-day,''  interposed  Uncle 
Tom,  "  none  of  your  common  nigger  songs." 

To  tins  proposition  all  agreed;  but  who  could  sing 
such  a  song,  was  the  ouc.-tion.  There  was  much  dal 
lying  :  and  Caesar  swore  that  if  some  one  did  not  com 
mence  very  soon,  he  would  sing  Ci  tho  whole  town  uiit 
of  home,"  liimself.  At  this  juncture,  a  country-look 
ing  chap,  poorly  clad,  and  of  bashful  appearance,  and 
who  wore  a  hat  that  had  lost  its  form  and  pressure, 
insomuch  that  it  came  nearly  over  his  eyes,  stepped 
forward  and  volunteered  his  services. 

"  Dat  's  no  nigger !  "  exclaimed  Caesar. 

"  !N'o  matter  for  dat,"  yelled  one  of  the  dancers — c£  if 
lie  can  sing,  let  him  do  so," 

A  murmur  of  approbation  to  the  proposition  ran 
through  the  crowd,  and  the  songster  commenced  — 

"  Old  Grimo.'s  boy  lives  in  our  town, 

A  clever  lad  is  he  — 
He  's  long  enough,  if  cut  in  half, 
-To  make  two  men  like  me. 

He  has  a  sort  of  waggish  look, 

And  cracks  a  harmless  jest  — 
His  clothes  are  rather  worse  for  wear, 

Except  his  Sunday's  best. 

He  's  kind  and  lib 'nil  to  the  poor, 

That  is,  to  dumber  One  — 
He  sometimes  saws  a  load  of  wood, 

And  piles  it  when  he  's  done. 


179 

He  's  always  ready  ready  for  a  job  — 

When  paid  —  whate'r  you  chooae ; 
He  's  often  at  the  colleges, 

And  brushes  boots  and  shoes. 

Like  honest  men,  he  pays  his  debts, 

JNfo  fear  has  he  of  duns  — 
At  leisure,  he  prefers  to  walk, 

But  when  in  haste,  he  runs. 

His  life  was  written  sometime  since, 

And  many  read  it  through  — 
He  makes  a  racket  when  he  snores, 

As  other  people  do. 

When  once  oppress'd,  he  prov'd  his  blood 

ISTot  covered  with  the  yoke  — 
But  now  he  sports  a  freeman's  cap, 

And  when  it  rains,  a  cloak  ! 

He  's  drooped  beneath  a  southern  sky, 

He  's  trod  the  northern  snows  — 
He  's  taller  by  a  foot  or  more, 

When  standing  on  his  toes  ! 

In  church  he  credits  all  that 's  said, 

Whatever  preachers  rise  — 
They  say  he  has  been  seen  in  tears, 

When  dust  got  in  his  eyes  1 

A  man  remarkable  as  this, 

Must  sure  immortal  be  — 
And  more  than  all  because  he  is 

Old  Grimes'  posterity." 

Bravos  and  vivas  followed  the  concluding  stanzas, 
as  well  as  clapping  of  hands  and  stamping  of  feet. 
The  song  attracted  the  attention  of  many  of  the  whites, 


180  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OK 

who  joined  in  this  general  outburst  of  enthusiastic  de 
light.  It  was  loudly  and  rapturously  encored.  The 
songster  was  disinclined  to  gratify  the  wish  of  the 
audience  ;  but  it  was  so  universal,  and  the  encore  was 
so  persevered  in,  that  he  again  commenced. 

"Hark'ee,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Csesar,  "  dat  am  de 
schoolmaster,  by  golly  ! " 

"  Pooh !  nigger,  no  sich  thing.  Out  wid  your 
nonsense." 

"Wha'  dat?  Don't  dis  nigger  know'd  um  ?  Dat 
am  mass'r  Bates." 

""Well,  'spose  so.  Don't  make  a  fool  of  yourself, 
Csesar." 

The  songster  overheard  the  colloquy  between  Uncle 
Tom  and  Caesar ;  and  as  Caesar's  conjecture  was  cor 
rect,  the  schoolmaster,  like  the  professional  singer 
sometimes,  upon  the  stage  of  the  lyceum  or  play-house, 
cut  short  the  song,  and  withdrew  from  the  booth. 


UNCLE  TOM7S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  181 


CHAPTER  XI. 

THE  OVEKSEEK. 

Peace  !  I  have  sought  it  where  it  should  be  found, 
In  love  —  with  love  too,  which  perhaps  deserved  it: 
And,  in  its  stead,  a  heaviness  of  heart  — 
A  weakness  of  the  spirit  —  listless  days, 
And  nights  inexorable  to  sweet  sleep  — 

Have  come  upon  me. 

HEAVEX  AND  EARTH. 

Abe,  the  hostler,  made  his  arrangements  to  be  ab 
sent  from  home  for  several  days,  and  was  at  the  barn 
in  Winchester  at  the  time  designated  for  the  assem 
bling  of  the  slaves.  One  only  made  his  appearance. 
What  had  occurred  was  a  mystery.  The  arrange 
ments  were  so  minute  in  detail,  and,  as  he  supposed, 
so  perfectly  adjusted,  that  a  frustration  appeared  out 
of  the  question.  It  was  long  after  dusk  before  lie  was 
relieved  of  his  ignorance.  And  then  the  relief  was 
partial,  unless  the  fact  that  the  expected  fugitives  did 
not  congregate  at  his  quarters  in  pursuance  of  the 
league,  should  have  been  full  proof  in  itself  of  an 
abandonment  of  the  conspiracy  to  runaway.  He  was 


LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

inside  of  the  barn,  with  the  door  closed.  The  requi 
site  number  of  horses  were  saddled  and  bridled  in  the 
stalls.  Anxiously  did  he  wait,  until  finally  the  con 
certed  signal  was  given  outside.  He  speedily  opened 
one  of  the  doors,  with  the  expectation  of  beholding  a 
bevy  of  fugitives,  when,  to  his  surprise,  who  should 
walk  in  but  Mr.  Bates,  "solitary  and  alone/'  The 
schoolmaster,  desirous  of  communicating  with  the 
hostler  in  great  privacy,  beckoned  to  the  slave,  who 
had  been  there  since  the  middle  of  the  afternoon,  to 
retire  into  the  hayloft.  'Which  done,  Mr.  Bates  in 
formed  Abe,  in  a  very  low  tone  of  voice,  that  in  con 
sequence  of  an  increase  of  the  stipend,  the  slaves  on 
Mr.  Erskine's  plantation  had  modified  their  views  on 
the  subject  of  freedom,  and,  he  was  .sorry  to  say,  thtir, 
the  hegira  must  be  postponed  to  some  more  auspi 
cious  moment.  The  hostler  regretted  that  they  mi:*!; 
take  the  labor  for  their  pains,  and  intimated,  as  polite!  \ 
as  his  nature  would  admit  of,  that  he  would  see  tin: 
slaves,  schoolmaster  and  all,  in  -  — ,  before  he  would 
be  so  fooled  again.  Such  a  sentiment  was  anything 
but  agreeable  to  the  sensitive  feelings  of  Mr.  Bates, 
and  he  Leered  to  be  excused  from  further  conversation 

cTO 

at  that  time.  The  hostler  was  too  vexed  to  desire  his 
presence,  and  each  bidding  the  other  c:good  night"  at 
the  same  instant,  the  wish  to  be  relieved  of  the  pres 
ence  of  the  other  was  perfectly  mutual  and  satisfactory. 
The  schoolmaster  did  not  reach  the  plantation  until 
near  noon  of  the  next  day.  lie  excused  the  tardiness 
of  his  return,  by  saying  that  he  remained  over  night 
with  a  friend  at  Millwood.  The  apology  was  as 


183 

unnecessary  as  it  was  false.  The  planter  had  not 
given  his  absence  a  thought ;  and,  if  he  had  done  so,  it 
would  have  been  attributed  to  a  proper  motive. 

Uncle  Tom  returned  to  his  cabin  the  night  previous, 
in  company  with  Caesar ;  and  said  to  Dinah,  as  he  was 
retiring  to  bed,  that  he  never  enjoyed  Independence 
with  better  satisfaction.  It  was  probably  after  mid 
night,  before  he  finished  his  rehearsal  to  her  of  what 
he  had  drank,  eaten,  and  seen  during  the  day.  Ho 
took  good  care  not  to  disclose  the  purpose  which  he 
entertained  when  he  bade  her  good  morning,  and  was 
evidently  glad  that  the  horse  was  wiser  than  himself. 
The  halt  at  the  village  changed  his  destiny,  as  he 
thought ;  and  the  wife  and  children,  and  even  the  cabin 
itself,  seemed  dearer  to  him  than  ever  before. 

The  holiday  over,  the  slaves  resumed  their  labor  as 
usual.  As  they  had  passed  it  differently,  each  had  a 
fund  of  story  for  the  other.  To  those  who  were  at 
work  with  him,  Ca3sar  gave  a  graphical  description  of 
the  doings  at  Millwood ;  and  among  other  things,  he 
referred  to  the  long  song  which  the  white  man  sung  at 
the  booth,  and  revealed  his  suspicion  as  to  whom  the 
person  was.  His  auditors  were  incredulous.  They 
could  not  believe  it. 

"  Oh !  Jeff,  I  know  dat  it  was  de  schoolmass'r." 

"  Dunno  ;  1  'in  guine  to  consider  dat." 

The  schoolmaster  was  foiled  in  his  effort  to  despoil 
the  planters  of  their  honestly-acquired  property.  "Why 
the  slaves  of  Mr.  Erskine  should  secede  from  the 
league  was  obvious ;  but  what  influence  controlled  the 
slaves  of  the  neighboring  plantations,  was  beyond  his 


184:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OK 

conjecture.  Addicted  to  imaginary  conceptions,  and 
naturally  prone  to  religiousness,  lie  inwardly  besought 
the  Creator  of  heaven  and  earth  "  to  make  his  paths 
straight."  He  was  ill  at  ease.  He  paced  his  chamber, 
and  as  the  clock  struck  eleven,  read  a  chapter  in  the 
Bible,  and  knelt  in  prayer.  It  was  the  evening  of  the 
day  he  returned  from  the  celebration  of  his  country's 
Independence.  He  prayed  for  the  enlightenment  of 
the  blacks  everywhere,  and  especially  those  sojourning 
in  the  valley  of  the  Shenandoah.  He  asked  that  the 
shackles  might  fall  from  the  bondman  and  bondmaid, 
and  the  captive  be  speedily  released  from  servitude. 
He  thanked  his  God  that  he  still  inherited  life  and 
liberty  —  the  matchless  boon  of  Providence  to  human 
ity —  and  as  his  soul  rose  with  the  mighty  theme,  his 
sanguine  and  fragile  mind  caught  the  flickering  flame, 
and  soaring  away,  with  the  velocity  of  the  tiny  balloon, 
into  a  region  of  the  wildest  enthusiasm,  he  prayed  for 
all — both  bond  and  free.  He  had  no  more  than  done 
this,  when,  as  sweet  a  strain  of  music  as  ever  broke 
upon  mortal  ear,  filled  the  apartment  with  its  enchant 
ing  melody.  He  tried  to  say  Amen,  but  his  senses 
were  enraptured ;  and  some  influence  emanating,  as  it 
seemed  to  him,  from  beyond  the  confines  of  earth, 
stayed  the  organ  of  speech  in  its  office.  Unconsciously 
he  reposed  his  body  upon  the  bed  ;  but  that  which  con 
stitutes  the  life  of  being  was  already  traversing  the 
alluring  fields  of  another  country' — far  hidden  within 
the  veil  of  Divinity.  He  dreamed,  that — wTe  had 
almost  written  —  but,  to  state  more  accurately,  he  saw 
the  whole  human  family  dwelling  together  in  a  state  of 


185 

unity  and  equality.  Countless  generations,  extending 
through  an  almost  interminable  line  of  descent,  were 
there ;  the  high-born  and  the  low-born,  the  king  and 
his  subject,  the  prince  and  peasant,  the  master  and 
slave  —  all  grades  and  conditions  of  earthly  society  and 
existence — all  were  there,  in  beatitude.  It  was  indeed 
a  heavenly  sight,  and  the  soul  of  the  schoolmaster 
reveled  in  elysium. 

It  may  appear  cruel  to  break  the  trance ;  but,  Uncle 
Tom  did  not  play  the  accordeon  beneath  the  window 
as  a  mere  compliment.  He  came  at  that  late  hour 
of  the  night  on  an  errand  of  business,  not  pleasure. 
"When  he  finds  that  the  sound  of  his  instrument  does 
not  break  the  silence  of  the  household,  he  takes  cour 
age,  and  noiselessly  winds  his  way  up  the  ascent  of  the 
stairs,  and  reaching  the  door  of  Mr.  Bates'  chamber, 
quietly  turns  it  upon  the  hinges.  He  takes  the  liberty 
to  approach  the  bed,  and  gently  taking  the  hand  of  the 
sleeper  into  his  own  awakes  him.  The  schoolmaster 
rises  in  his  bed  instantly,  and  intense  astonishment  fills 
his  countenance. 

"Who  are  you?'-  he  asks,  his  eyes  glaring  in  their 
sockets. 

"  Wha'  de  matter  wid  you,  mass'r?  Be  quiet.  It  is 
your  poor  old  slave." 

"  Ah!  it  is  you,  Tom,  is  it?  Yery  good.  Sit  upon 
the  bed,  and  let  me  know  your  thoughts.  You  are 
not  here  at  this  late  hour  without  a  purpose." 

"  Yas,  mass'r,  dat  's  it.  But  you  'most  frighten  me, 
you  look  so  wild.  I  hope  dat  you  ar'  not  out  wid  me 
for  not'  going  to  Winchester,  mass'r." 


186  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

Oil!  no,  no;  I  was  in  the  midst  of  a —  I  know  not 
what  name  to  mention ;  the  like  never  occurred  to 
me  before." 

"TVlui',  mass'r !  wha'  d'  ye  say?  for  Lor'  de  mercy! 
explain  urn." 

"I  can  not  now;  it  would  take  too  long.  Let  me 
know  your  business.  Something  new  on  foot,  I  imagine?" 

"Dunno,  mass'r." 

" How  is  that?     Arc  you  here  for  nothing?" 

"Dis  poor  ole  nigger  could  ift  sleep.  I  hab  no 
peace,  day  or  night.  So  I  thought  I  would  come  and 
consult  wid  you,  my  good  friend." 

"Tom,  have  you  prayed  to-night?" 

"Oh!  yes,  mass'r.  Dis  nigger  pray'd  long,  an'  wid 
earnest  heart;  but  I  felt  no  more  at  ease." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  the  reason?" 

"Yas,  nmssV." 

"It  is  your  punishment." 

"Punishment!  for  what,  mass'r?" 

"  Because  you  loitered  at  AI.ill.wood." 

"I  'ni  not  to  blame  for  dat.  De  ole  horse  would 
stop,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  say." 

"Ah  !  Tom,  Tom.  Just  as  if  you  had  not  the  power 
to  make  the  animal  budge.  No,  no!  You  recognized 
some  old  faces,  and  you  thought  you  would  stop  only 
for  a  few  moments.  You  were  urged,  I  ''11  be  bound,  to 
ntop  and  celebrate.  You  were  importuned  to  drink  and 
cat;  and,  like  Eve  in  the  garden  of  paradise,  you 
thought  you  would  just  taste — no  more.  I  hit  you  know 
that  the  preacher  says,  tlial  'brought  death  into  the 
world  and  all  our  woe.' " 


1ST 

"  Dat  's  it.  You  hab  mentioned  de  feelings  of  dis 
nigger,  jist  as  they  was.  But,  mass'r,  I  could  n't 
help  um." 

u  And  therefore  you  are  now  here  in  slavery,  instead 
of  being  on  the  path  to  freedom.  Tell  me,  Tom,  did 
you  really  intend  to  go  to  Winchester,  when  you  left 
the  cabin  that  morning  ?  " 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  I  am  afraid  not.  You  may  have  had  some  such 
idea ;  but,  I  suspect,  you  did  not  feel  as  if  you  were 
taking  your  last  look  of  the  plantation,  when  you 
passed  the  brow  of  the  hill.  Be  sincere,  and  tell  me, 
now,  Torn  ? " 

i;Dumio  'zactly  how  dat  was,  mass'r.  I  allow  dat  I 
did  not  like  de  idea  of  leaving  forever  niy  good  ole 
Dinah." 

iSAh!  ha!  I  thought  as  much.  And  how  was  it 
Vvith  reference  to  those  little  children  of  yours?" 

u  Oh!  mass'r,  it  is  painful  to  think  of  it.  But,  as  I 
was  afeerd  to  tell  Dinah  whar'  I  was  guine  dat  day,  I 
did  not  bid  good-bye  to  any  one.  I  had  sounded  her 
about  freedom  ;  but  she  thought  nothin'  of  it,  an'  I  did 
not  tell  her  'bout  cle  league." 

"  Well,  pass  that  by.  What  project  have  you  now 
in  your  head?  Talk  fast,  and  to  the  mark." 

"  I  can  not  bear,  mass'r,  to  stay  here.  I  'm  not  con 
tented.  I  want  to  be  my  own  man." 

"  Very  good ;  that  is  for  you  to  say.  If  you  will 
go  to  work  in  earnest,  I  doubt  not  you  can  get 
away." 

"Will  you  help  me  as  afore?" 


188  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;   OK 

"  Certainly,  certainly  ;  my  services  are  at  your  com 
mand.  You  ought  to  be  free ;  you  have  lived  in  chains 
long  enough.  You  have  only  to  will  it,  and  the  thing 
is  done." 

"If  I  could  get  Csesar,  or  Jeff,  or  Hector,  or  any  of 
them,  to  go  wid  me,  I  should  be  contented.  I  hate  to 
go  alone." 

"  Can  you  not  persuade  Dinah,  after  all,  to  accom 
pany  you?  Try  her  again." 

"  Oh !  if  you  could  talk  wid  her  as  you  hab  wid  me, 
she  would  come  to  it,  I  believe  in  iny  soul." 

"It  is  difficult  to  get  an  opportunity." 

"!N~o,  massV,  no." 

"Can  you  arrange  an  interview?" 

"Yas,  mass'r." 

"Well,  do  so,  and  I  will  talk  to  her  as  man  never 
did  before.  I  will  make  an  impression  on  her." 

"Will  you,  mass'r?" 

"You  may  rely  upon  it,  Tom." 

"Den  I'm  glad  dat  I  came  over  an'  waked  you," 
replied  the  slave,  and  rising  from  his  seat  on  the 
bed,  walked  to  the  door,  and  added,  "God  bless  you, 
mass'r." 

"  Let  me  see  you,  Tom,  to-morrow  night,  in  the 
road." 

"Yas,  mass'r,"  he  replied,  and  going  out  of  the 
mansion  as  silently  as  he  entered  it,  returned  to  his 
cabin. 

The  schoolmaster  was  happy  to  find  that  the  seed 
which  he  had  sown  had  not  fallen  entirely  on  barren 
ground.  lie  took  courage,  and  determined  that  he 


189 

would  make  another  effort.  His  thoughts  were  more 
tranquil,  arid  he  soon  fell  asleep. 

The  next  day,  Uncle  Tom  went  into  the  woods, 
about  a  mile  from  the  quarters,  for  blackberries.  There 
he  fell  in  company  with  a  couple  of  slaves,  who 
were  members  of  the  league.  One  of  them  was  about 
his  age. 

"Jim,"  said  he,  uwhar  was  you  on  Independence 
day  ? " 

"  On  our  plantation." 

"  Jim,  you  ar'  faithless  nigger." 

"I  should  'spect  you  to  make  dat  appear,  if  true." 

"Easy,  easy  enough,  Jim." 

"Let  dis  nigger  see  you  do  um." 

"Shall  I,  Jim?" 

"So  I  spoke,  Uncle  Tom." 

"  Well,  you  ignorant  nigger,  I  tell  you  why.  'Kase 
you  did  not  keep  your  word  wid  Abe.  Now  you 
knows  wha'  I  said,  Jim." 

"  Oh !  yas,  yas.  Well,  Uncle  Tom,  I  take.  I  make 
a  clean  breast  of  it." 

"Good!  out  wid  it." 

"You  must  know,  Uncle  Tom,  dat  massa  raised  our 
stipend,  an' — " 

"Curse  de  stipend!  dat  was  de  trouble  wid  Caesar 
an'  de  rest  ob  um." 

"  An'  we  thought  as  how  we  would  try  massa  on  a 
little  longer." 

"  So  I  supposed.     How  much  more  do  you  get  ? " 

"  We  hab  got  noffin  yet ;  only  de  oberseer  spoke  dat 
it  should  be  bigger." 


190  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

"Jim,  do  YOU  want  me  to  put  a  flea  in  your  ear?" 

"Yas,  if  you  can  cotch  uni." 

"  Pshaw !  you  misunderstand.  I  gib  you  some  word 
of  advice,  if  you  will  hear  me." 

"Go  on ;  my  ears  are  open  for  him." 

"Do  stipend  will  neber  be  increased  —  neber.  lie- 
collect  what  I  speak  to  you." 

"  I  would  like  to  see  you  make  out  dat,  when 
de  oberseer  has  expressly  told  us  dat  it  should  be 
increased?" 

"TThen  did  he  say  dat  it  should  be  bigger?" 

"Oh!  now  I  believe  dat  yon  hab  me,"  replied  Jim, 
scratching  his  head;  "I  had  forgot  dat." 

"Exactly.  Rather  important,  I  should  think,  to 
hab  it  commence,  if  you  ar'  to  be  benefited  by  um." 

"True;  I'm  glad  you  mentioned  dat  circumstance 
to  me.  I  shall  go  to  Mr.  Eawls,  our  oberseer,  as  soon 
as  I  git  back  wid  my  berries,  and  understand  dat 
point." 

"  An'  if  it  is  not  to  be  increased  until  arter  you  ar 
under  de  green  turf,  what  den  ?  " 

"  Den  dis  nigger  will  be  off,  as  agreed." 

"  But,  perhaps,  Abe's  services  will  not  be  forthcom 
ing  when  you  may  want  urn." 

"  I  '11  risk  dat  nigger ;  I  know'd  him  long  time  ago." 

The  suggestion  of  Uncle  Tom  disturbed  Jim^s  equa 
nimity,  and  as  soon  as  he  filled  his  pail  with  the  ber 
ries,  he  started  for  home.  He  revealed  his  thoughts  to 
some  of  his  fellow-slaves,  and  they  were  as  anxious  as 
himself  to  know  the  truth.  They  repaired  to  the  house 
<  f  Mr.  Jlawln,  mid  were  disappointed  in  not  finding 


191 

him  at  home.  Jim,  and  some  of  the  others,  loitered 
about  the  door  until  he  returned.  It  was  near  sun 
down. 

"  Yvrliat  is  wanted  ? "  inquired  the  overseer,  as  he 
came  up,  and  apparently  much  surprised  to  see  the 
company. 

"  We  hub  come  to  know  'bout  de  increase  of  our 
stipend,"  replied  Jim,  who,  upon  his  own  motion, 
acted  as  spokesman. 

"  And  what  do  you  want  to  iniow  ?  " 

"  When  ar'  um  to  be  increased  ?  " 

"What  is  that  to  you?  It  will  be  time  enough  for 
you  to  know  that  when  you  receive^  it,"  answered  Mr. 
Bawls,  in  a  gruff  tone  of  voice,  and  jostled  among 
them  to  reach  the  door  of  his  house. 

ul)at  is  unsatisfactory,  inass'r,"  said  Jim,  "we 
want  to  know  de  particulars." 

"  You  will  know  no  more  now  from  me.  So  get  you 
back  to  your  quarters,  you  ill-mannered  scamps.  It  is 
very  kind  in  your  master  to  give  you  any,  much  more 
to  increase  it,"  replied  the  overseer,  and  entering  the 
house,  shut  the  door  upon  them. 

Jim  and  his  fellow-slaves  went  away  with  heavy 
hearts,  and  much  disappointed  in  being  treated  so 
harshly.  They  at  least  expected  their  inquiries  to  be 
answered  in  a  civil  manner.  If  the  stipend  was  not 
to  be  increased  at  any  time,  they  thought  the  overseer 
could  say  so.  Jim  thought  of  Uncle  Tom's  suggestion, 
and  began  to  believe  that  there  was  some  truth  in  it. 

"  We  should  have  stuck  to  the  league,"  said  Jim. 

"  Yas ;  an'  de  blame  is  all  on  you,  for  backing  out." 


192  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  I  thought  dat  massa  was  honest ;  I  neber  know'd 
him  otherwise  afore." 

"  I  believe  dat  massa  am  honest,  now." 

"How  do  you  make  um  so,  when  he  promised  to 
gib  us  more  wages,  an'  do  n't  keep  his  word  ? " 

"  You  may  hab  heard  massa  say  so ;  dis  nigger 
has  n't,  anyhow." 

"De  oberseer  said  it;  dat's  all  de  same." 

"1  'spects  mass'r  Rawls  lied  some." 

"  Den,  'spose  you  ax  massa,  Sam." 

"  Ko ;  dis  nigger  not  so  green  as  dat.  I  will  ax 
missus  to-morrow." 

"  Do,  Sam ;  an"  if  de  oberseer  hab  lied,  he  neber 
will  hear  de  last  ob  it." 

Sam  kept  his  word,  and  improved  the  first  opportu 
nity  which  he  had  to  ask  his  mistress  about  the 
stipend. 

"  So,  Sam,  your  master  has  always  taken  good  care 
of  you,  has  he  not  ? " 

"Yas,  missus." 

"Then,  I  would  not  give  myself  further  uneasiness. 
You  will  always  have  what  is  proper  and  right,  and 
so  will  your  family." 

"But,  missus,  we  had  our  expectations  raised  by 
de  oberseer.  He  said  as  I  hab  told  you.  I 
could  n't  believe  dat  massa  would  not  keep  his 
promises." 

"  Mr.  Rawls,  perhaps,  anticipated  what  he  told  you. 
As  Mr.  Erskine  had  been  so  kind  as  to  increase  the 
stipend  on  his  plantation,  perhaps  Mr.  Rawls  thought 
that  yours  would  be  raised  also.  I  presume  that  he 


193 

could  have  no  motive  in  exciting  your  expectations 
unnecessarily." 

Sam  shook  his  head ;  and  at  night,  when  Jim  re 
turned  from  his  work  to  the  quarters,  he  told  him  what 
his  missus  said. 

"Do  you  know  what  I  am  guine  to  do ? "  said  Jim, 
as  Sam  finished  the  story. 

"  JXTo ;  I  does  not." 

"  I  'm  guine  to  make  a  point  with  mass'r  Rawls." 

"  Wha'  dat  you  guine  to  'do  ? " 

"  I  say  dat  I  'm  guine  to  make  my  point  wid  de 
oberseer.  I  'm  bound  to  know  'bout  dis." 

"  Oh !  dat 's  right,  Jim.  Do  so ;  an'  keep  your 
courage  good ;  mark  dat." 

"  Oh !  do  n't  you  take  dis  nigger  for  a  fool.  I  shall 
not  let  um  off  as  easy  as  afore.  I  must  know  de  bad 
part,  if  dar  is  any." 

Jim  was  at  work  mowing  grass,  the  next  day  after 
the  above  conversation  between  him  and  Sam.  In 
the  course  of  the  afternoon,  he  was  raking  the  new- 
mown  hay  into  small  cocks,  so  as  to  shed  the  dew  and 
rain  which  might  fall  before  it  was  housed  in  the  barn. 
Mr.  Rawls  was*  giving  some  directions  in  relation  to 
the  size  of  the  cocks,  when  Jim,  believing  that  the 
opportunity  was  as  favorable  as  he  should  have,  again 
called  the  attention  of  the  overseer  to  the  stipend. 

"Why  do  you  dog  me  about  that?  Do  you  not 
have  your  wants  gratified?"  inquired  the  overseer, 
quite  out  of  patience  with  the  slave's  impudence. 

"  Dat 's  not  de  point,  mass'r.  You  said  some  time 
ago  dat  our  stipend  was  increased,  or  would  be 


194:  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OB 

increased.  What  I  want  to  know  is,  when  it  is  to 
begin?" 

"I  am  not  disposed  to  answer  you  ;  and  I  could  not, 
if  I  was." 

"Den,  I  understand  um.  It  is  a  cheat;  an'  I  am 
bound  to  report  to  massa.  I  '11  not  stand  it." 

"  Perhaps  you  would  like  to  change  masters  ;  eh  ? 
"What  do  you  say  to  that? " 

"  ~No   danger,  no  clanger  of  dat,  mass'r   oberseer. 

O        /  cj  / 

I  '111  too  old  —  too  many  gray  hairs." 

"  Perhaps  not ;  but  I  can  tell  you  one  thing.  If  1 
am  not  greatly  deceived,  the  crops  must  be  larger, 
and  the  prices  higher  this  year  than  usual,  or  some  of 
you  must  go,  and  no  mistake." 

"Do  you  say  dat,  mass'r?" 

"You  had  better  believe  I  do,  Jim." 

"  I  did  not  think  that  massa  was  in  straightened 
circumstances.  But  I  'm  opposed  to  lying,"  dryly 
remarked  the  slave. 

"  I  understand  you,  you  saucy  puppy  !  I  told  you 
all  that  your  stipend  would  be  increased,  so  as  to  stim 
ulate  you  to  work  the  more  diligently,  and,  perhaps, 
thereby  save  your  master  from  the  disagreeable  neces 
sity  of  parting  with  any  of  you.  And  I  repeat  now 
to  you,  that  I  have  a  strong  impression  that  the  stipend 
wrill  be  increased  when  your  master  sees  his  way  clear." 

"I  did  not  understand  you  so  afore,  mass'r.  For 
my  part,  I  does  n't  care  'bout  changing  hands." 

"Very  good;  work,  then,  the  harder,  and  live  the 
closer  ;  for  what  you  save  is  to  the  master's  benefit,  and 
to  your  own  likewise,  as  you  now,  I  think,  understand." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  195 

"  Dunno,  mass'r,  how  dat  will  be.  I  had  rather  hire 
my  own  time." 

"You  might  fare  worse." 

"ISfot  in  dis  valley,  mass'r/' 

"Very  true.  But  if  you  should  leave  this  planta 
tion,  there  is  no  knowing  where  you  might  fetch  up, 
at  last." 

"  Is  massa  in  debt?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  the  day  of  payment  is  coming  around." 

"I  can't  understand  it,  mass'r.  He  lives  not  half 
so  well  as  some  oder  planters,"  said  Jim,  slow  to 
believe  the  overseer,  after  the  deception  which  he  had 
practiced. 

"The  debt  is  an  old  one — -extending  back  to  the 
purchase  of  a  portion  of  the  plantation.  But  it  is  now 
fast  reaching  its  maturity,  and  must  be  promptly  met, 
or  the  mortgage  given  to  secure  its  payment  will  be 
foreclosed  without  mercy." 

'Dis  nigger  am  not  acquainted  wid  de  subject  you 
speak  on,  mass'r.  Dis  much  I  will  say:  I  shall  do 
my  part  of  de  work,  for  I  lub  missus.  But  I  'm  not 
afeerd  of  changing  owners.  Too  many  white  hairs  — 
too  many,  mass'r  —  ha!  haw!  hum!"  remarked  the 
slave,  good-naturedly ;  and  plied  the  rake  with  greater 
zeal  than  usual. 

Sarn  saw  the  overseer  and  Jim  conversing  together, 
and  he  concluded  that  the  latter  was  making  his  point. 
He  was  anxious  to  learn  the  result,  and  as  soon  as  he 
had  eaten  his  supper,  repaired  to  Jim's  cabin. 

""Well,  massa  is  in  debt,"  said  Jim,  anticipating  the 
object  of  his  visit. 


196  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH;   OR 

"  I  reckon  not  much." 

"  De  oberseer  says  so." 

"  What  'bout  de  stipend  ?  dat  interests  dis  nigger 
most." 

"It  is  not  increased,  nor  am  it  to  be." 

The  large  white  orbs  of  Sam's  eyes  looked  pecu 
liarly  at  this  announcement. 

"  How  's  dat,  Jim  ?     Dis  am  a  new  feature,  indeed." 

"  I  told  you  already ;  massa  is  in  debt,  an'  we  must 
•work  harder,  or  some  ob  us  must  be  sold.  Come,  go 
out  wid  me,  an'  I  will  tell  um  all." 

"Agreed,"  replied  Sam,  looking  most  profoundly 
surprised  ;  and  they  went  into  the  yard. 

"  Here,  you  niggers  !  "  shouted  Jim,  "  come  to  me, 
an'  hear  something  for  your  own  good." 

They  nocked  around  him  immediately,  to  listen  to 
the  news. 

"  Some  of  us  must  be  sold,  to  help  massa  pay  his 
debt,  if  de  crops  are  not  big !  " 

A  peal  of  thunder,  in  a  cloudless  sky,  could  not 
have  occasioned  greater  amazement. 

"  Wha'  dat !  wha'  dat  you  mention  ?  "  quickly  in 
quired  a  broad-shouldered,  well-formed,  robust  negro, 
who  had  not  seen  five  and  twenty  years. 

"  I  spoke  dat  some  one  would  be  sold  afore  long,  if 
massa  did  not  pay  his  debt."  The  young  negro  ap 
peared  to  be  troubled  in  his  mind,  lest  his  good  con 
dition  should  recommend  him  to  the  purchaser.  "  I 
hope  dat  you  will  do  your  best  dis  summer,"  continued 
Jim,  addressing  his  conversation  to  the  black  last  men 
tioned,  "  for  I  should  hate  to  part  company  wid  you." 


UNCLE  TOM?S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  1  97 

"  Do  n't  you  mind  me ;  do  yonr  part.  It  will  not 
follow  dat  I  'm  guine  to  be  the  sold  nigger,  if  I  am 
smarter  than  de  rest  of  you.  It  will  depend  upon  de 
sum  to  be  raised,  as  to  de  price  to  be  got.  Perhaps 
some  of  de  boys  —  dat  one  on  de  fence  yonder — 
may  do." 

"  Well,  dey  will  not  take  us  ole  ones  —  dat 's  sartin  ; 
for  de  buyer  would  be  afeerd  we  should  die  too  soon," 
replied  Jim,  apparently  believing  that  he  was  in  no 
danger. 

"I  do  n't  know'd  dat,"  said  Sam ;  "it  stands  us  all 
••'n  hand,  to  lend  our  assistance,  when  missus  cries  for 
help.  Dis  nigger  is  glad  dat  you  made  your  point, 
Jim,  wid  de  oberseer;  it 's  better  to  know  the  bad  now 
in  season.  I  goes  in  for  work." 

All  of  them  acquiesced  in  this  sentiment,  and  retired 

to  their  cabins. 
9 


198  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  I    OK 


CHAPTER  XII. 

SCHOOLMASTER'S  LESSONS  OF  FREEDOM. 

"  Mark  -well  your  words,  sir  ;  for  you  must  answer  for  them." 

BARD, 

After  tea,  on  the  day  succeeding  his  trance,  Mr. 
Bates  sauntered  about  the  lawn,  and  in  the  fruit  orch 
ard.  The  sun  was  rapidly  verging  toward  the  cope  of 
the  western  horizon,  and  the  clouds,  richly  tinted  with 
the  reflection  of  his  mellow  rays,  were  gathering 
around,  "  as  if  to  curtain  his  repose  beneath  their 
gorgeous  drapery."  What  he  beheld  in  the  trance, 
had  been  uppermost  in  the  mind  of  Mr.  Bates  during 
the  whole  day.  And  now  that  he  was  released  from 
the  duties  of  the  schoolroom,  it  engrossed  his  entire 
thoughts.  He  believed  that  the  slaves  were  to  be  re 
leased  from  their  thraldom,  if  equality  was  to  exist  in 
the  Xew  Jerusalem.  lie  was  T  .ore  than  ever  per 
suaded,  that  he  was  doing  his  ivlaker  good  service,  in 
contributing  his  mite  tow  <d  the  liberation  of  the 
down-trodden,  and  their  intimate  evangelization.  This 
consideration  braced  iiis  courage,  and  overbalanced 


199 

any  misgivings  which  conscience,  in  moments  of  ten 
derness,  may  have  occasioned.  What,  if  the  fortune 
of  the  slaveholder  was  wrecked !  What,  if  poverty 
succeeded  affluence !  What,  if  the  bondman  himself 
sunk  to  a  still  deeper  degradation,  in  this  sphere  be 
low  !  What,  if  the  Union  of  the  States  was  dissolved ! 
What,  if  the  constitution  of  his  country  —  the  palla 
dium  of  liberty  —  was  scattered  to  the  winds  and  waves 
of  furious  bigotry  and  uncontrollable  fanaticism  !  Such 
dismal  events  might  occur.  But  he  consoled  himself 
with  the  comfortable  reflection,  that  there  was  an 
unseen  power  above  all  —  a  higher  law  —  that  would 
guide  the  whirlwind  of  popular  commotion,  and  finally 
allay  the  elements  of  discord,  and  harmonize  the  bel 
ligerent  interests  of  society. 

Uncle  Tom  did  not  forget  his  engagement ;  and 
shortly  after  sunset  he  was  in  the  road,  awaiting  the 
appearance  of  his  mentor  —  the  schoolmaster.  It  was 
sometime  before  he  came ;  it  was  quite  dark. 

"  Tom,  you  are  punctual,  I  see." 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  What  a  pity  that  the  rest  of  them  do  not  prize 
as  highly  as  you,  manly  independence  —  the  glory 
of  life." 

"  Can't  say,  mass'r,  how  dat  am.  Dis  nigger  is  bent 
on  guine  to  freedom." 

"  Good  pluck,  my  old  boy !  Keep  your  hopes  cen 
tered  there,  and  you  will  yet  gain  the  victory." 

"  I  'm  afeerd  dat  time  is  long  ways  off." 

"It  may  be  so.  But  remember  the  story  of  the 
Israelites.  Hugged  was  the  way,  many  the  privations, 


200  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

and  very  long  the  time,  before  that  good  old  patriarch, 
Moses,  stood  on  Pisgah's  mount,  and  looked  upon 
Palestine." 

This  admonition  was  too  much  for  the  negro's  pious 
heart,  and,  unable  to  restrain  himself,  he  sung,  in  a 
manner  so  exquisitely  pathetic  as  even  to  move  Mr. 
Bates  to  tears, 

"  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight, 
Where  saints  immortal  reign,"  tfcc., 

and  as  he  was  concluding  the  last  stanza  of  the  hymn, 

"  Could  I  but  climb  where  Moses  stood, 

And  view  the  landscape  o'er  ; 
Not  Jordan's  stream,  nor  death's  cold  flood, 
Should  fright  me  from  the  shore," 

to  which  an  interruption  in  his  voice,  from  sorrow, 
gave  peculiar  softness,  the  sound  of  carriage  wheels 
was  heard,  that,  from  its  faintness,  appeared  to  be 
some  distance  up  the  road. 

The  schoolmaster  did  not  wish  to  be  discovered  in 
company  with  the  slave  at  that  hour,  and  they  imme 
diately  climbed  over  the  fence,  and  seated  themselves 
in  the  shadow  of  a  large  pine  log  which  had  been 
felled  by  lightning  several  years. 

"  Mass'r  Bates,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  who  had  not  yet 
regained  his  self-possession,  u  explain  to  me  de  differ 
ence  between  mounting  to  glory  here,  and  in  de  state 
of  freedom." 

This  request  of  the  poor,  old,  honest  negro  —  so 
naturally  preferred  in  his  present  temperament  —  filled 


201 

the  schoolmaster  with  amazement.  He  knew  not  what 
to  say.  He  attempted  an  answer,  but  it  stuck  in  his 
throat.  He  hung  his  head;  he  knit  his  forehead,  as 
if  in  deep  meditation. 

"  Ki,  mass'r  Bates,  enty  you  guine  to  speak  iiothin' 
to  me,  eh?"  inquired  the  slave,  himself  now  also 
amazed,  at  the  appearance  of  his  friend. 

The  schoolmaster  raised  up  his  head,  and  bringing 
his  piercing  dark  eyes  —  livid,  as  it  seemed,  with  the 
fires  of  malice  —  to  bear  directly  upon  those  of  the 
negro,  with  all  the  intensity  of  which  he  was  capable, 
exclaimed, 

"  Miserable  dunce !  Have  you  not  heard,  again 
and  again,  that  the  blasphemer  cannot  enter  the  gate 
of  heaven  ? " 

This  was  uttered  in  such  a  tone  of  awful  solemnity, 
that  it  fairly  thrilled  the  heart  of  the  slave  —  already 
throbbing  with  the  emotions  of  contrition  —  and  his 
whole  frame  trembled  like  autumnal  leaves  surged  by 
the  premonitory  winds  of  winter. 

Both  were  silent  for  a  few  moments.  Finally,  the 
slave,  recovering  in  some  measure  his  equanimity, 
ventured  to  reply. 

"  Yas,  mass'r.  I  ax  your  pardon.  May-be  I  was 
too  fast.  But  dis  let  me  say:  dat  question  I  put  to 
you,  mass'r,  was  an  honest  question ;  dat 's  all." 

"Very  good,  Tom.  Now,  to  our  business.  Do  you 
think  you  can  persuade  Dinah  to  accompany  you  to 
the  North  ? " 

"  Dunno." 

"  So  I  supposed  ;  I  ask  you  what  you  think  of  it  ?  " 


202  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  Doubtful,  mass'r ;  berry  doubtful." 

"  Is  the  chance  of  getting  her  consent,  worthy  of 
our  effort  ? " 

"  Dat  can  be  tried ;  an'  if  you  say  so,  I  will  make 
anoder  effort." 

"  I  make  the  suggestion.  You  can  have  an  inter 
view  with  her ;  you  must  manage  carefully,  however, 
and  feel  your  way ;  do  not  let  her  know  too  much." 


"  Let  dis  nigger  alone  for  dat." 

u 


Yery  good.  How  is  it,  Tom,  with  the  rest  of 
them?  Is  there  any  reason  for  expecting  their  co 
operation  again  ?  Or  have  they  gone  back  to  their 
lowly  condition,  with  no  desire  to  leave  it." 

"  I  reckon  not,  mass'r ;  I  put  one  of  them  on  the 
scent  to-day,  in  de  blackberry  bush." 

"  Ah !  did  you,  my  good  man  ?     Tell  it  to  me." 

"  It  was  Jim,  who  libs  up  de  valley  some  two  miles." 

"  On  another  plantation  ?  " 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  "Well,  what  was  his  feeling  ?  "What  did  he  propose 
to  do?" 

"  De  circumstance  was  dis.  I  know'd  dat  his  sti 
pend  was  not  bigger  than  afore ;  so  I  takes  de  liberty 
to  say  dat  it  neber  will  be.  He  said  no ;  dat  I  was 
mistaken.  I  ax'd  him  to  inquire  'bout  it;  I  axM  him 
how  much,  and  when  it  began,  lie  could  n't  say ; 
an'  den  I  told  him  dat  it  was  all  cheat!  He  got  ex 
cited,  and  swore  dat  lie  would  know  de  truth  from  de 
oberseer  dat  berry  night." 

"  Supposing  that  the  stipend  was  not  increased, 
what  did  he  propose  to  do  ? " 


UK  OLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS. 

"Dat  is  jist  what  I  was  guine  to  told  you." 

"  I  am  listening,  Tom." 

"  He  said  dat  he  would  not  stay  wid  his  massa  any 
longer." 

"  A  sensible  determination.  I  should  like  to  make 
his  acquaintance." 

"  Easy  enough  done,  mass'r ;  easy  enough." 

"  Explain  the  way,  Tom." 

"  S'pose  I  git  word  to  him,  dat  you  wOuld-  see  him, 
an'  tell  him  to  meet  you  somewhar'." 

"That  is  feasible.  Can  you  not  go  up  to  his 
quarters  this  evening?  I  would  like  to  hasten  the 
denouement" 

"  Excuse  dis  nigger,  mass'r,  but  I  do  n't  understand 
what  you  remarked." 

"  I  say,  go  up  this  evening  and  see  Jim." 

"  Yas,  mass'r ;  dat  I  understood,  an'  I  will  do  so. 
Dat  oder  part  of  your  remark,  I  mean." 

"  Oh  !  I  meant  to  inform  you* that  I  wished  to  know 
immediately  the  result  of  our  consultation." 

The  slave  bowed  his  assent,  and  climbing  the  fence, 
jumped  into  the  road,  and,  with  a  quick  but  light  step, 
went  in  the  direction  of  Jim's  quarters. 

Mr.  Bates,  to  avoid  suspicion,  extended  his  walk 
across  the  meadow  to  the  river.  He  had  misgivings 
about  succeeding  with  his  plan  of  emancipation. 
Uncle  Tom,  doubtless,  was  both  willing  and  anxious 
to  go  North.  But  he  had  great  affection  for  his  wife 
and  children  ;  and  unless  some  expedient  was  adopted 
to  take  them  along  also,  the  schoolmaster  almost  de 
spaired  of  prevailing  upon  him  to  go  without  them. 


204:  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OK 

Hence  the  desire  manifested,  to  have  the  slave  mako 
another  effort  to  gain  over  Dinah.  He  followed  the 
bank  of  the  river  as  far  as  the  elms,  musing  upon  a 
variety  of  projects  to  compass  her  in  his  toils.  Ills 
mind  settled  upon  none ;  and  fearful  that  his  absence 
from  the  mansion  might  occasion  remark,  he  directed 
his  course  directly  across  the  field,  and  upon  reaching 
the  highway,  unexpectedly  met  Uncle  Tom. 

"What!  back  so  quick?" 

"  Yas,  mass'r ;  I  do  n't  play  by  de  roadside.' 

"Well,  did  you  see  Jim?" 

"I  seed  him;  but,  it  would  n't  do  to  tell  him.  For 
I  was  foxy  enough  to  ask  whur'  de  oberseer  was  — • 
pretending  to  have  business  wid  um  ;  an'  he  said  ho 
did  not  know,  'kase  lie  had  not  seen  him  since  he  come 
homo  from  blackberrying." 

"  And  then  you  thanked  him  for  the  information, 
and  bid  him  good  evening  ?  " 

"Exactly  so,  mass'r;  was  not  clat  right?  " 

"  Certainly  ;  you  could  do  nothing  else." 

"  What  do  you  say  now  to  me  ?  " 

"See  him  to-morrow,  or  as  soon  as  yon  conveniently 
can,  and  inform  me  privately.  We  will  not  now  pro 
long  our  conversation ;  we  may  be  seen.  That  might 
create  a  muss ;  at  least,  we  might  have  troublesome 
questions  to  answer.  So,  gord  night,  Tom.n 

"  Good  night,  mass'r ;  you  ci.n  trust  dis  nigg?r." 

For  several  days  ensuing,  Mr.-  Bates  was  busy  in 
concocting  schemes  for  the  escape  of  Uncle  Tom,  and 
such  as  might  be  disposed  to  go  in  company.  He  was 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  205 

slack  in  his  duties  at  the  schoolroom,  and  absent- 
minded.  But  we  pass  over  many  little  incidents  that 
occurred  during  this  time,  some  of  them  much  to  his 
disadvantage ;  and  ask  the  reader  to  accompany  us  to 
a  little  arbor,  hard  by  a  small  brook  —  say  at  the  dis 
tance  of  half  a  mile  from  the  mansion  —  where  Dinah, 
Philisee,  and  sometimes  Lucinda,  were  in  the  habit  of 
washing  clothes.  All  three  were  there  at  the  time  to 
which  we  now  refer. 

It  was  before  night,  but  after  the  school  was  closed 
for  the  day,  and  about  a  fortnight  after  the  conversa 
tion  last  detailed.  The  negresses  were  busy  in  pound 
ing,  rubbing,  and  rinsing  the  different  articles  in  the 
wash,  and  chatting,  and  cracking  their  jokes,  and 
occasionally  enlivening  their  feelings  with  some  fami 
liar  air. 

"As  I. live,  dar  comes  de  schoolmass'r,"  said  Lu 
cinda  to  her  companions  ;  and  dropping  the  shirt  which 
she  was  rubbing  into  the  tub,  she  stretched  up  her 
neck  and  took  a  good  look  at  him,  so  as  to  be  sure  she 
was  not  mistaken. 

"  Sure  enough,  dat  am  mass'r  Bates  ;  bless  his  poor 
body,"  replied  Philisee,  who,  in  her  confusion,  let  drop 
in  the  dirt  a  lace  cap  of  her  missus,  which  she  had 
nearly  washed  to  her  fancy.  "  Well,  I  does  n't  blame 
him  for  wanting  to  stretch  his  limbs,  arter  being 
cramped  up  in  dat  ole  log  hut  all  dis  hot  day.  I  call 
dat  more  servile  than  washing —  ya  !  ya  !  yah  !  " 

"  Why,  girls,  you  have  a  delightful  place  here  to 
do  your  work ;  a  good  shade  and  refreshing  breeze," 

remarked  Mr.  Bates,  as  he  came  up. 
9* 


206  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"Yas,  mass'r;  but  we  are  old  girls  —  seen  good 
many  years  ;  dat  we  hab." 

u  Oh  !  I  beg  you  to  excuse  my  irreverence  for  age. 
No  person  respects  that  more  than  your  humble  ser 
vant.  I  hope  that  you  will  not  take  my  observation 
too  much  to  heart." 

"  Pooh!  "  exclaimed  Philisee,  "we  are  not  so  mighty 
old,  arter  all ;  young  enough  yet — ya  !  ya!  yah  !  I  'm 
a  match  for  Hector  any  day,  to  work ;  an'  you  know, 
or  yon  ought  to  know,  dat  he  takes  de  lead  now; 
Uncle  Torn  can't  come  it  now — ya!  ya!  yah!  " 

"Very  true;  and  likely  that  is  the  reason  why 
Dinah  feels  so  old.  What  do  you  say,  Luclnda? " 

"  Pshaw !  mass'r  Bates,  yon  knows  wha'  Pompey 
an'  I  am;  yon  sees  us  ebery  day,"  she  bashfully 
replied,  and  resumed  her  work. 

The  schoolmaster  seated  himself,  and  entered  into 
familiar  conversation. 

"If,"  said  he,  "you  enjoy  labor  so  much  here,  be 
neath  a  burning  sun,  I  wonder  how  you  would  like  it 
in  the  land  where  I  come  from." 

"  Too  cold,  an'  wet,  I  reckon,  for  us  Southern  gals," 
said  Philisee. 

"Not  if  you  were  your  own  mistresses  —  to  go  and 
come  as  you  might  please,  I  imagine." 

"I  don't  know  'bout  dat;  we  are  well  off — well 
enough  —  aint  we,  Lucinda?" 

"I'spects  so.  Pompey  says  dat  he  would  not  quit 
massa  for  a  hundred  clean  dollars  !  " 

"I  have  known  many  a  poor  girl,  who  owned  her 
body,  arid  dressed  as  she  pleased  with  her  own  earnings, 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  207 

to  become  rich,  and  reside  in  an  elegant  house,  filled 
with  splendid  furniture,  and  to  dress  better  than  your 
mistress,  and  to  ride  in  a  magnificent  coach  with  ser 
vants  at  her  call  to  execute  her  commands." 

"Git  out  wid  such  nonsense,  mass'r  Bates;  dar  is 
no  use  of  trying  to  fool  us  wid  sich  stories  —  ha !  ha ! 
haw !  "  said  Philisee. 

"You  may  laugh  it  off,  but  I  tell  you  the  truth. 
And  let  me  add,  that  such  occurrences  are  common 
with  Northern  ladies." 

"  Do  you  pretend  to  say,  mass'r  Bates,"  rejoined 
Philisee,  laying  aside  her  work,  and  raising  one  foot 
out  of  the  water,  arid  placing  it  upon  the  edge  of  the 
tub,  with  her  right  hand  supporting  the  chin,  and  her 
elbow  resting  upon  the  knee,  "  do  you  pretend  to  say, 
mass'r  Bates,  dat  de  Northern  gals  work  so  much  as 
dat  you  spoke  of?  " 

"Oh!  they  do  not  always  actually  make  it  with 
their  labor,  Philisee.  But,  as  there  are  no  distinctions 
in  our  society,  the  humble  frequently  become  exalted." 

"  You  hab  me  dar,  mass'r ;  I  do  n't  know  wha'  you 
talk." 

"Fie!  fie!  I  say  that  the  poor  become  rich,  often, 
by  good  luck ;  chance  favors  them,  and  the  high  unite 
their  fortunes  with  the  low.  The  young  girl,  born  in 
a  humble  cottage,  and  of  obscure  parentage,  preserves 
her  good  character,  is  industrious,  cultivates  her  mind 
as  much  as  her  condition  in  life  will  admit  of,  and 
minds  her  manners ;  she  works  as  a  menial,  and  occa 
sionally  complains  of  her  hard  lot ;  or,  favored  with 
the  means  of  education,  she  earns  her  livelihood  in 


208  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    Git 

imparting  knowledge  to  others,  at  the  expense  of  her 
own  health  and  comfort." 

"  An'  neber  sings,  frolics,  or  dances,  free  an'  easy, 
rough  an'  tumble,  like  us  gals  of  olo  Virginny  ?  Xo, 
no,  mass'r ;  gib  me  de  rolicking  life  of  de  South ! 
"When  de  work  is  ober  for  de  day,  we  sing  um,  dance 
nm,  an'  laugh  um,  as  happy  an1  gay  as  the  chirping 
birds  of  morning." 

u  I  suspect  that  depends  upon  taste.  Besides,  my 
observation  does  not  justify  such  a  position.  I  have 
seen  you  all  sweating  in  the  torrid  sun  during  the  day, 
and  at  evening  retire  to  your  quarters  with  aching  bones, 
and  your  bodies  absolutely  exhausted  with  fatigue." 

"  Oh !  mass'r,  you  did  n't  mean  all  dat.  I  do  n't 
know  how  oiler  folks  ar',  but  my  bones  ar'  as  whole  as 
eber.  An' as  for  Hector  —  dat  charming  bov  —  whv,  he 

O  v  i/    ' 

always  sleeps  as  sound  as  a  beetle;  lie  neber  grunts  — 
ha!  ha!"  said  Philisee,  with  a  remarkable  pleasant 
smile  upon  her  countenance. 

"Will  you  hear  me  through?"  asked  the  school 
master,  sharply. 

"To  be  sure ---go  ahead,"  said  Philisee,  resuming 
the  wash. 

u  When  you  interrupted  me,  I  was  about  to  observe 
that  the  Northern  girl,  although  a  menial  or  school 
teacher,  often,  by  her  amenity  and  good  reputation, 
won  the  heart  of  some  opulent  gentleman,  and  passed 
the  residue  of  her  days  surrounded  with  the  comforts 
and  pleasures  of  wealth." 

"  Perhaps  dat  am  so,"  remarked  Philisee,  in  a  tone 
of  voice  that  indicated  she  was  far  from  accrediting  it, 


209 

u  I  know  what  I  say,  I  could  mention  numerous 
instances  to  corroborate  my  assertion." 

"  Well,  mass'r,  I  can't  say  for  Lucinda  and  Dinah, 
but  I  should  feel  like  a  cat  in  a  strange  garret.  Pooh  ! 
a  servant  arm  in  arm  wid  her  massa !  bad  enougli  to 
sleep  wid  inn  !  but  to  talk  of  eating  at  same  table, 
riding  out  togedder,  guine  to  church,  to  hops,  balls, 
an'  parties  !  pshaw  !  git  out !  Philisee  not  fool  enough 
for  to  believe  all  dat." 

Mr.  Bates  dropped  the  subject,  and,  tired  of  his  seat 
upon  the  stone,  took  a  recumbent  posture  upon  the 
greensward.  He  amused  himself  with  his  cane,  gaz 
ing  upon  the  washers,  and  occasionally  making  a  play 
ful  remark.  The  negresses  wondered  that  he  should 
give  them  his  company  —  it  \vas  so  unlike  him.  They 
were  more  reserved  in  their  conversation,  did  their 
washing  the  sooner,  and  collecting  their  duds  together, 
started  off  for  the  quarters. 

Uncle  Tom  had  prevailed  upon  Jim  to  come  to  the 
brook  that  evening.  He  had  so  informed  the  school 
master  ;  who,  to  create  the  impression  that  he  was 
simply  strolling  along  the  road  for  exercise,  repaired 
thither  immediately  after  he  closed  his  school  in  the 
lane.  It  was  an  hour  or  two  yet  to  dusk.  The  women 
did  not  remain  as  long  as  he  anticipated,  and  he  was 
at  a  loss  how  to  idle  away  the  interval.  He  bethought 
himself  of  his  small  testament,  and  taking  it  from  the 
pocket  of  his  coat,  opened  it  casually  at  the  third 
chapter  of  Paul's  epistle  to  the  Colossians.  Fond  of 
the  holy  text-book,  and  a  devoted  believer  in  its  an* 
thenticity,  he  willingly  commenced  perusing  the  page 


210  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OB 

before  him.  He  read  on  with  a  placid  temper,  until 
he  came  to  the  twenty-second  paragraph.  Here  his 
eyes  suddenly  became  stationary,  and  his  forehead  ruf 
fled  ;  he,  for  some  moments,  looked  steadily,  without 
relaxing  or  contracting  a  muscle,  as  if  spejl-bound. 
Finally,  he  drew  a  long,  deep  sigh,  indicative  more  of 
anguish  of  spirit  than  sorrow  of  heart,  and  muttered 
in  an  audible  tone,  "Servants,  obey  in  all  things  your 
masters,  according  to  the  flesh," — here  the  sound 
ceased,  although  his  lips  still  moved,  and  instantly 
again  he  uttered,  "do  it  heartily;"  and  tin-owing  the 
book  aside,  laid  himself  at  full  length  upon  the  ground. 
His  eyelids  gradually  closed,  and  he  continued  in  that 
position,  until  the  night  shedding  her  gentle  dew  upon 
the  earth,  began  to  create  a  chilliness  in  the  atmos 
phere.  Shivering,  he  arose,  as  if  from  slumber,  and 
beheld  Jim  and  Sam,  who,  in  the  meantime,  had 
arrived  at  the  rendezvous.  He  rubbed  his  eyes,  and 
looking  around,  was  surprised  at  the  lateness  of  the 
hour. 

"I  do  not  see  Tom ;  which  of  you  takes  his  place?" 
he  asked,  with  the  view  of  ascertaining  whether  either 
of  the  negroes  was  Jim,  as  they  were  strangers  to  him, 
and  Uncle  Tom  was  still  absent. 

"Sam  offered  to  go  along,  mass'r,  an'  so  I  took  him." 

"  Your  name  is  — " 

"Jim,  mass'r;  Jim,  noffin  else." 

"  Very  good.  I  am  happy  to  meet  you  and  your 
comrade.  What  do  you  propose?  " 

"Sa!" 

"  "What  brings  you  here  ?  " 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  211 

"  Why,  mass'r,  Uncle  Tom  told,  dat  if  I  would  come 
to  de  brook  dis  time,  I  should  know  'bout  de  stipend. 
Sam  allowed  dat  he  would  like  to  know'd,  also,  an'  I 
ax'd  him  to  go." 

"  Ah  !  the  stipend  ;  yes,  yes  —  no —  what  of  the  sti 
pend  ?  "  asked  the  schoolmaster,  in  utter  ignorance  of 
what  had  transpired  between  the  negroes,  and  puzzled 
in  his  mind  what  to  say  or  do. 

"Why,  de  oberseer  said  dat  our  massa  would  in 
crease  de  stipend,  jist  as  massa  Erskine  did ;  and  now 
he  says  dat  he  won't  do  it.  I  mentioned  dis  circum 
stance  to  Uncle  Tom,  an'  he  told  us  to  come  here,  an' 
you  would  explain  um  to  us.  I  'spose  you  —  you  am 
mass'r  Bates  ? " 

"  The  same." 

"  We  ar'  all  ears,  mass'r." 

"  But  you  have  mouths ! " 

"Sa!"  exclaimed  Jim,  not  appreciating  the  force 
of  that  remark. 

"You  blacks  are  often  too  loose  in  your  conversa 
tion.  A  wise  man  does  not  tell  all  he  kmrvvs." 

"  Is  it  a  secret,  mass'r? " 

"  Of  course  ;  or  it  was  unnecessary  for  you  to  come 
here." 

"Den,  we  will  hab  no  mouths." 

"Will  you  —  both  of  you — never  mention  what  I 
say  to  you?" 

"  Neber,  neber,  neber,  mass'r  Bates,"  replied  both 
Jim  and  Sam. 

"If  you  do  —  mark  my  words  —  hell  will  be  your 
borne!" 


212  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

"Neber — neber  —  neber,  mass'r  Bates,"  both  again 
replied,  in  a  solemn  voice,  and  quivering  with  affright. 

UI  know  of  but  one  sure  way  to  receive  wages,  and 
that  is,  to  be  jour  own  masters !  "vehemently  exclaimed 
the  schoolmaster,  with  all  the  energy  he  could  com 
mand.  The  negroes  were  terrified,  more  by  the  atti 
tude  which  he  assumed,  than  the  idea  expressed. 

"Mass'r  Bates,  jist  spoke  dat  agin.  I  won't  tell 
um  to  missus,"  said  Sam,  who,  of  the  two,  retained  his 
self-possession  the  best. 

"  You  won't  tell  missus  !  Who  the  devil  supposed 
you  would?"  replied  the  schoolmaster,  vexed  that  he 
had  even  said  what  he  had.  u  What  a  simpleton  I 
am  making  of  myself!  Talk  to  strangers,  and  Tom 
not  here  according  to  appointment.  ]\TO  doubt  a  trap 
to  circumvent  me,"  muttered  he  to  himself,  stepping 
toward  the  brook,  and  stooping  down,  as  if  to  quench 
his  thirst.  u  I  have  an  engagement  at  the  mansion, 
and  must  hurry  back,"  lie  said,  as  he  rose  up ;  u  meet 
me  some  other  time,  here,  or  wherever  you  please, 
and  I  will  talk  further;  now,  it  is  inconvenient.  So, 
good  evening,  and  bear  in  mind  what  I  observed 
to  you." 

"  Yas,  mass'r,"  replied  Jim;  and  they  went  their 
several  ways,  the  negroes  much  disappointed. 


213 


CIIAPTEE   XIII. 

UNCLE  TOM  AND  DINAH. 

"  Like  a  bird 

Singing  love  to  its  lone  mate, 
In  the  ivy  bower,  disconsolate." 

SHELLEY. 

In  the  course  of  the  evening,  after  Dinah  returned 
from  the  wl&h,  she  remarked  to  Uncle  Tom,  that  Mr. 
Bates  came  up  to  the  brook.  This  was  no  news,  for 
he  heard  Philisee  tell  Hector  the  same  thing  an  hour 
before.  And  this  was  the  reason  why  he  did  not  keep 
his  engagement.  He  thought,  if  he  should  be  away 
from  the  quarters,  that  his  absence  might  be  attributed 
to  the  true  cause.  If  suspicion  did  not  "  always  haunt 
the  guilty  mind,"  perhaps  he  would  not  have  enter 
tained  such  a  fear.  As  it  was,  his  prudence  advised 
him  to  remain  that  evening  in  the  cabin.  If  he  could 
not  aid  the  schoolmaster,  with  his  presence  at  the 
brook,  he  might  effect  something  with  Dinah  at  home. 

u"Wha',  Dinah,  schoolmass'r  come  to  de  wash  !  " 

k<  Jist  so,  Tom." 


214  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"  Well,  when  you  Lab  put  things  to  rights,  an'  chil 
dren  ar'  in  bed,  sit  down  by  cle  table  an'  told  me  all 
'bout  um." 

"  Oh  !  clat  's  all,  Turn." 

"  Yas,  but  you  can  tell  ober  wha'  he  said.  I  likes, 
Dinah,  to  hear  your  sweet  voice  ;  will  you,  honey  ? " 

"  I  '11  do  nothin'  else,  Tommy." 

It  was  not  long  before  they  were  seated  at  the  table. 
Dinah  was  knitting,  and  her  husband  was  smoking  his 
pipe.  The  children  were  fast  asleep,  if  loud  snoring 
can  be  received  as  evidence  thereof;  and  the  dishes 
and  culinary  utensils  were  all  in  the  proper  place. 

"Kow,  Tommy,  what  would  you  hab  me  talk?"  she 
asked,  as  she  took  a  seat  in  an  old  rocking  chair,  the 
arms  of  which,  from  long  use,  were  as  smooth  as 
polished  ivory. 

"  I  cares  not.     What  had  mass'r  Bates  to  say  ? " 

u  Oh !  he  told  us  ob  de  smart  women  way  off  in  de 
North." 

"  "Now  I  knows  why  you  told  me  dat,  Dinah ;  but 
you  can't  make  dis  ole  man  jealous,  anyhow." 

"Pshaw!  no  sich  idea  entered  my  head,  Tommy. 
Dat  was  de  subject  of  his  conversation." 

"  Oh !  berry  good  ;  mention  more." 

The  negress  was  fond  of  her  spouse,  and  at  all  times 
evinced  a  willing  disposition  to  please  him.  She  re 
hearsed  the  schoolmaster's  conversation  with  minute 
ness,  and  concluded  by  asking  Uncle  Tom  what  he 
thought  of  it. 

"I  'spects  inn  true,  Dinah;  all  true.  Mass'r  Bates 
will  not  lie,"  he  replied. 


215 

She  shook  her  head  doubtingly. 

"  You  do  n't  believe  him  !  Is  dat  what  you  would 
Bay,  my  lub  ?  " 

"  Dunno,  Tommy." 

"  Pshaw !  what  could  be  de  object  of  telling  false 
hood  ?  !N"o,  no !  Dis  nigger  reckons  he  told  you  for 
information.  Pompey  says  dat  massa  says,  mass'r 
Bates  is  a  gemman  of  knowledge.  Anyhow,  I  would 
like  to  satisfy  myself  how  dat  am." 

"Out  of  de  question,  Tommy;  we  can  not  be  edi- 
cated  at  our  time  o'  life.  Mebbe  de  children  will 
grow  to  it." 

"I  was  thinking  as  how  we  might  sometime  go  to 
de  jtforth,  an'  den  we  could  hab  plenty  of  knowledge 
ourselves." 

"  Oh !  now  you  speak  um.  As  I  think  of  it,  Lu- 
cinda  said  Mary  spoke  oder  day  of  guine  to  some 
spring  way  off  dar.  Perhaps  massa  would  take  us 
along." 

"No  danger — no  danger  of  dat,  Dinah." 

"If  you  would  drive  out  'your  feelings,'  an'  curry 
favor  wid  missus  Mary,  wre  might — " 

"  I  know'd  what  you  ar'  'bout  to  mention,  Dinah." 

"Take  us  wid  um?" 

"  Yas.     But  you  mistake  massa  on  dat  point." 

"Oh!  you  mistake,  Tommy ;  you  think  dat  he  will 
always  be  unkind.  'T  is  not  so.  You  acted  badly  ;  I 
was  not  so  blind  as  not  to  see  it.  De  punishment  was 
mild.  It  is  pride  —  your  pride,  Tommy,  dat  play'd 
de  mischief.  Dinah  was  sorry;  but  how  could  she 
help  it?" 


216  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"Neber  mind  —  neber  mind.  You  do  not  see  do 
reason  why  missus  Mary  will  not  hab  us  wid  her. 
Shall  I  speak  um  ?  " 

"If  it  please  you." 

"  Massa  would  be  afeerd  dat  we  sliould  get  our  free 
dom,  if  we  went  into  de  free  states. 

"  I  do  n't  see  through  dat." 

"  Why,  do  n't  you  know  how  it  is  with  de  colored  pop 
ulation  in  the  North  ?  Dey  ar'  all  free,  an'  de  slave, 
when  he  gets  dar,  is  at  liberty,  in  spite  of  massa." 

"Tommy,  would  you  be  so  naughty  as  to  forsake 
Mary,  if  she  was  so  good  as  to  take  us  wid  her?" 

"Fudge,  fudge!  Hav  n't  we  souls?  hav  n't  we  got 
brains?  Nonsense,  Dinah!  I  believe  dat  we  ar'  'bove 
de  brutes  an'  as  human  as  de  white  man.  Here  we 
labor  an'  sweat  like  de  ox  an'  horse,  and  we  are  kick'd 
like  de  do^s.  There  we  should  own  ourselves  —  live 

O 

as  God  intended  human  beings  sliould  live  —  be  big- 
bugs,  an'  act  as  our  own  pleasure  might  order." 

"Now  you  talk  jist  like  mass'r  Bates." 

"An'  what  if  I  does?     It  is  de  solemn  truth." 

"How  can  you  say  dat,  Tommy?  You  knows  no 
more  'bout  it  than  oder  folks.  You  speak  what  you 
hear  —  nothin'  else." 

"  Yas,  yas;  but  de  information  comes  to  me  in  sich 
a  way,  dat  I  'm  not  disposed  to  doubt  its  correctness." 

"Who  told  you?" 

"Eberybody  dat  I  hear  speak  of  it.  De  school- 
mass'r  has  often  said  so  —  upon  his  honor." 

"Did  you  ask  him,  if  dar  was  any  poor  people  in 
his  country?  " 


217 

"  A  fool  to  ask  sich  a  question.  I  knows  better. 
How  can  de  people  be  poor,  when  they  hab  all  their 
wages  for  their  own  use !  " 

O 

"  You  forget,  I  reckon,  clat  they  hab  no  massa  to 
deal  out  corn  an'  provisions,  or  procure  their  clothing. 
An'  of  this  they  need  much,  for  it  is  cold  country,  not 
warm  and  sunny,  like  de  valley  of  Shenandoah." 

"  Are  you  so  ignorant  as  not  to  know  dat  de  smart 
people  do  all  this,  an'  lay  up  in  store  ebery  year?  It 
is  this  dat  makes  'em  rich  an'  big." 

"I  wonder,  den,  why  mass'r  Bates  comes  down 
here  to  earn  his  living.  I  should  suppose  that  he 
would  stay  at  home,  in  his  own  country,  if  it  is  what 
you  represent.  A  cheat  somewhar,  Tommy ;  depend 
upon  it." 

"Hard  to  convince  an  obstinate  will.  You  are  con 
tented  wid  your  lot,  'case  you  know  no  better  one.  If 
you  could  see  um  as  I  do,  you  would  not  be  willing  to 
stay  anoder  moment.  I  tell  you  dat  I  want  to  try  dat 
country." 

"What!  Leave  Dinah  an'  our  dear  children  for- 
eber,  an'  see  um  no  more  ?  Oh  !  no,  no !  Do  n't  think 
of  sich  a  thing,  Tommy.  I  could  not  endure  it." 

"  If  dat  was  what  I  intend  to  do,  I  should  hab  gone 
before  now.  I  hope  dat  you  will  conclude  to  keep  me 
company." 

"  How  you  talk!  I  'in  afeerd  you  are  getting  crazy 
It  is  impossible.  And  think  of  de  indescribable  mis 
ery  we  should  suffer.  Only  think  of  our  poor  little 
children,  crying  for  bread,  an'  we,  Tommy,  by  our  own 
fool  hardiness,  noffin  —  noffin  to  give  them." 


218  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH',    Oil 

"  We  should  find  plenty  of  good  friends  by  the  way 
side.  I  liab  no  fear  of  starvation ;  dat  is  de  least  of 
my  troubles,  honey.  I  'in  more  concerned  of  being 
unable  to  hide  ourselves  from  massa." 

"  Impossible  !  it  is  impossible  !  Gib  up  de  idea,  an' 
think  no  more  of  it.  We  could  not  get  away.  Our 
tracks  would  be  too  deep  to  cover  up.  We  should  hab 
de  bailiff  arter  us —  he  would  cotch  us;  for  we  an' 
our  little  ones  could  not  climb  de  tree  like  de  'possum 
or  squirrel.  We  might  run  into  de  wilderness,  an' 
pray  and  pray  for. a  hiding  place;  but  our  Father  in 
heaven  would  not  hear  us.  He  would  say  dat  we  had 
done  wrong  —  a  great  wrong — an'  dat  we  must  repent 
in  sackcloth  and  ashes  'afore  he  would  help  us.  An' 
den  what,  Tommy  ?  We  should  be  dragged  back  to 
massa  wid  our  heads  bowed  to  de  ground,  an'  none  to 
pity  us  or  help  us  —  even  wid  a  cup  of  water.  Oh! 
our  condition  would  be  worse  than  de  thief  you  read 
of  last  Sunday." 

"Now,  Dinah,  you  are  giving  reins  to  your  imagin 
ation.  Dat  is  de  dark  side.  Hear  me.  Suppose  dat 
we  hid  in  a  cavern ;  an'  mass'r  bailiff  come  an'  look 
all  around,  up  in  de  tree,  and  among  de  rocks,  an' 
seed  noffin,  an'  heard  noffin.  Would  n't  he  go  off  and 
look  somewhar'  else?  of  course  he  would.  Den  what, 
honey  ?  You  would  see  dat  we  should  slip  out  undis 
covered,  an'  finding  our  way  back  to  de  high  road, 
resume  our  journey  to  freedom  wid  light  steps  and 
joyful  hearts.  If  we  grew  tired,  some  house  would 
be  handy  to  lay  down  7"  i.  If  we  were  hungry,  WQ 
could  eat  of  our  cornea!  o  and  bacon." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  219 

"  It  would  soon  be  eaten  up.  Only  small  quantity 
could  we  carry,  and  keep  our  gait." 

"  Exactly.  An'  soon  should  we  be  among  friends, 
who  would  give  us  enough  to  eat.  No  fear  of  hunger. 
By  and  by,  we  should  breathe  the  air  of  the  North, 
an'  we  should  feel  as  white  people  do.  Den,  you 
would  be  ashamed  dat  you  eber  objected  to  guine  wid 
your  dear  Tommy.  Now,  shall  I  go  without  you?  " 

"  Oh !  I  do  n't  know  what  to  think  of  it,"  rejoined 
Dinah,  half-inclined  to  say  yes,  and  yet  doubting  both 
the  practicability  and  propriety  of  her  husband's  pro 
ject.  She  mused  a  moment  or  two  and  added,  "I 
can  not  bear  the  idea  of  a  separation." 

"  Then,  but  say  that  you  will  join  me  in  dis  effort 
for  freedom,  an'  I  will  do  all  the  planning  to  accom 
plish  it." 

Dinah  hesitated  to  make  a  reply. 

"  Do  n't  speak  till  your  mind  is  fully  made  up  ;  for, 
if  we  once  go  forward,  we  must  not  falter,"  said  Uncle 
Tom,  who  did  not  wish  to  have  his  wife  make  her 
decision  rashly  if  it  was  favorable  to  his  views,  for  fear 
of  consequences. 

"Do  you  propose  that  we  go  alone? "  she  plaintively 
asked,  and  tears  beginning  to  moisten  her  eyes. 

"Pshaw!  how  much  at  heart  you  take  it.  Only 
think  of  de  years  of  happiness  that  will  be  in  store 
for  us." 

"  I  was  thinking  of  my  ole  acquaintances  here.  I 
shall  know  no  one  there.  We  shall  be  lonely  in  dat 
strange  land,"  she  said,  and  gave  vent  to  her  pent-up 
feelings  in  a  flood  of  tears. 


220  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  Perhaps  not.  But  if  you  could  only  persuade 
Philisee  to  go  wid  us." 

"An'Lucinda?" 

"  Yas  ;  and  Lucinda." 

"  Den  I  could  be  happy  an'  contented." 

"  "Well,  talk  wid  them  to-morrow.  Learn  what  they 
think  of  it,  and  be  careful  that  you  do  not  inform  them 
of  our  disposition." 

"  Yas,  Tommy ;  an'  if  they  will  go,  I  'm  ready  for 
the  jaunt,'1  she  replied,  wiping  her  swollen  eyes  with 
the  corner  of  her  check  apron. 


"  Shall  we  sing?  "  asked  the  negro. 


c'  Oh  !  no ;  I  do  not  feel  in  de  spirit ;  let  us  omit  it." 

"  As  you  say,  Dinah ; "  and  they  knelt  in  prayer, 
and  were  soon  abed. 

Dinah  did  not  repose  quietly.  She  was  disturbed 
by  bad  dreams,  and  more  than  once  groaned,  as  if 
suffering  intense  agony. 

The  next  morning,  she  rose  from  the  bed  earlier  than 
usual.  She  looked  hazard.  She  went  to  a  small 

Oo 

looking-glass  that  hung  upon  the  side  of  the  cabin, 
over  a  little  bureau,  opposite  the  bed,  and  arranged 
her  headdress. 

"  I  feel  as  bad  as  I  look,  that 's  certain,"  she  ex 
claimed,  with  a  sigh;  "how  sweetly  Tom  an'  de  chil 
dren  sleep,"  she  added,  as  she  turned  around.  ""Well, 
I  must  try  and  drive  away  my  unpleasant  thoughts." 
she  further  added,  as  she  passed  out  at  the  door  into 
the  wood-yard,  for  some  chips  to  kindle  the  fire.  Ere 
long,  the  inmates  of  the  quarters  were  all  astir,  and 
she  began  to  resume  her  accustomed  jovial  manners. 


221 

She  intended  to  go  over  to  the  mansion,  in  the  after 
noon,  and  chat  with  Lucinda  about  freedom.  Bat 
before  she  was  ready  to  leave  her  work,  Philisee  came 
into  the  cabin.  She  thought  it  was  a  good  time  to 
ascertain  Philisee's  views,  without  being  suspected  of 
having  any  design. 

"Do  you  s'pose  mass'r  Bates  meant  what  he  said 
at  de  brook  yesterday  ? "  she  asked,  as  Philisee  took  a 
seat,  to  talk  and  sew  awhile. 

"  'Bout  northern  gals,  Dinah  ? " 

"  Yes." 

"I  reckon  not.  If  he  did,  he  must  have  taken  us 
to  be  mighty  weak  in  de  head." 

"Dunno  'bout  dat.  I  've  been  thinking  it  over. 
Mebbe  he  spoke  de  gospel  on  dat  subject." 

"Well,  well — ya!  ya!  ya!  who  would  hab  thought 
it?  You,  Dinah,  heeding  sich  nonsense — ya !  ya! 
yah  !  I  gib  um  up ;  color'd  fools  are  alive  yet,  sure 
enough." 

"Why,  how  you  express  yourself!  Can't  a  body 
believe  dat  sich  a  gemman  as  mass'r  Bates  may  tell 
de  truth  ?  "  replied  Dinah,  rather  pertly,  vexed  at 
Philisee's  facetiousness. 

"  Oh !  I  s'pose  so.  I  hope  dat  you  ar'  not  guine  to 
grow  mad,  'kase  I  take  de  liberty  of  disputing  mass'r 
Bates.  Pooh!  I  don't  trouble  myself  'bout  him,  if 
he  does  hang  around  Cassy's  door." 

"WhaM  what  dat  you  say?" 

"  Oh  !  I  do  n't  know.  Pshaw  !  do  n't  like  to  talk  all 
I  hear,"  said  Philisee,  bringing  her  face  in  contact 

with  the  garment  which  lay  in  her  lap. 
10 


222  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"Well,  really,  Miss  Philisee,  I  can't  understand 
what  you  would  be  arter  mentioning,"  said  Dinah, 
drawing  her  spectacles  down  towards  the  tip  of  her 
nose,  and  dropping  Uncle  Tom's  shirt,  which  she  just 
then  began  to  mend. 

"Why,  la!  I  s'pects  mass'r  Bates  am  a  gallant,  an' 
fond  of  perlite  society.  Dat  's  all." 

"White  people  generally  ar',  I  hab  heard,"  said 
Dinah,  and  readjusting  the  spectacles,  again  com 
menced  sewing,  with  more  composure.  She  did  not 
intend  to  question  Philisee  further,  in  relation  to  the 
schoolmaster's  sentiments,  thinking  that  it  would  not 
be  of  any  benefit  to  her  husband  to  do  so.  And  hence, 
she  chatted  about  other  matters.  After  awhile,  there 
was  a  pause  in  the  conversation,  and  Philisee  remarked 
that  the  colored  people  of  the  North  must  be  a  queer 
set,  if  all  that  she  had  heard  was  true. 

"  I  should  n't  wonder  if  dey  were  a  happy  set.  Ac 
cording  to  mass'r  Bates,  dey  act  as  they  please  at  all 
times,  an'  hab  as  much  encouragement  to  do  well  as 
de  white  folks,"  said  Dinah,  believing  that  she  now 
had  a  good  opportunity  to  test  Philisee's  opinion  of 
freedom. 

"An'  what  if  de  color'd  people  are  happy  up  dar? 
It  does  not  follow  dat  dey  are  more  so  than  we.  I  '11 
be  boun'  dat  ole  "Virginny  gibs  more  ginuin  happiness 
than  all  de  F  orth  put  togedder." 

"Philisee,  how  would  you  like  to  take  a  jaunt  dar?" 

"  Oh  !  berry  well." 

"Perhaps  you  would  change  your  opinion  'bout 
living  dar." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  223 

"Not  at  all.  If  I  could  hab  my  freedom,  I  would 
stay  wid  mussa  ;  dat  I  would.  I  hab  no  disposition  to 
freeze  to  death." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  freezing?  Mass'r  Bates 
says  dat  de  sun  shines  dar  as  well  as  here." 

"  What  'bout  de  big  snows,  an'  de  biting  frost,  in 
their  long  winters?  Dat  's  what  takes  my  eye.  I 
do  n't  care  to  shiver  half  de  year,  wid  no  green  vege 
tables  to  oat,  nor  sweet,  fresh  roses  to  smell.  No,  no ! 
I  'in  de  gal  for  de  warm,  spicy,  an'  lovely  South.  I  'm 
happy  enough,  de  Lord  knows,  and  so  are  you.  Wlia' 
you  talkin'  'bout?" 

" Mass'r  Bates  says  dat  dey  are  free,  though;  an' 
dat  the  people  go  an'  work  when  it  suits  their  disposi 
tion.  They  spend  their  own  wrages,  an'  buy  property, 
sich  as  houses  an'  lands,  an'  really  live  as  rich  folks 
do  here.  How  do  you  like  dat?" 

"Oh!  berry  well." 

"Then,  why  not  make  an  effort  to  try  urn  ? " 

"  Do  de  people  hab  eberyting  in  common  up  dar  ?  " 

"I  'spects  not." 

"  Den  you  and  I  would  die,  afore  we  hab  all  dem 
nice  things  you  mention." 

"  Perhaps  so.  But  we  should  knowr  what  freedom 
was ;  no  massa  or  missus  would  whip  us,  or  punish  us." 

"I  hab  no  massa  or  missus  to  whip  me  now.  It  is 
so  long  ago  since  I  was  punished,  dat  I  hab  forgotten 
it.  I  do  my  duty,  an'  git  along  wrell  enough.  So  wid 
you,  Dinah.  Do  you  want  to  go  off?  be  honest  now." 

"No,  Philisee;  I  ax'd  you,  to  know  what  your 
feelings  were ;  dat 's  all." 


224:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"Well,  I  hab  no  feeling  to  make  a  fool  of  myself, 
whether  mass'r  Bates  wants  me  to  do  so  or  no,"  said 
Philisee. 

"Does  he  want  you  to  run  off?"  quickly  asked 
Dinah,  now,  for  the  first  time,  the  suspicion  flashing 
across  her  mind,  that  Philisee  might  possibly  be  aware 
of  Uncle  Tom's  disposition  to  leave  his  master. 

"He  has  not  insulted  me  so  much  as  to  put  the 
question,"  she  replied,  and  as  one  of  her  children  now 
came  into  the  cabin  and  informed  her  that  the  baby 
was  crying,  she  immediately  rose  to  go  to  it. 

"Neither  has  he  to  me,"  said  Dinah  with  a  laugh, 
and  invited  her  visitor  to  come  in  again  when  she  had 
leisure. 

Uncle  Tom  returned,  that  evening,  from  the  field, 
with  an  ugly  look. 

"Blast  de  oberseer!  he  poked  me  in  de  ribs  as  I 
was  coming  through  de  bars.  I  '11  neber  go  into  de 
meadow  agin,"  he  observed,  as  he  entered  his  cabin. 

"Neber  mind,  Tommy  —  good  day  ahead.  I  've 
thought  it  all  ober  in  my  mind.  So  do  not  cuss  eeny 
more,"  said  Dinah  in  good  humor. 

"  Does  you  say  dat,  my  lub.  Den  I  '11  wash,  an'  eat 
my  supper  in  peace.  I  always  know'd  you  was  sensi 
ble,  I  did." 

He  relished  his  meal,  and  ate  with  hearty  good-will. 
Dinah  was  pleasant,  and  full  of  talk.  They  conversed 
with  great  cheer,  so  much  so  that  even  the  children 
seemed  to  observe  and  enjoy  it.  It  appeared  to  them 
like  old  times,  when  their  father  hardly  ever  sat 
down  without  fondling  one  or  more  upon  his  knees. 


CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  225 

Latterly,  he  was  rough  and  cold  to  them.  They  were 
afraid  to  approach  him,  lest  they  should  incur  his  dis 
pleasure,  and  be  ordered  away,  with  a  cuff  upon  the 
head  or  a  box  upon  the  ear.  Now,  after  supper,  he 
trotted  and  rocked  them,  played  with  them,  sung  to 
them,  while  his  wife  was  removing  the  dishes  from  the 
table  to  the  cupboard,  and  clearing  away  the  earthen 
bowls,  platters,  and  spoons,  with  which  the  family  had 
partaken  of  their  homrnony  and  milk.  It  was,  indeed, 
a  reunion.  The  children  lay  down  to  sleep  with 
lighter  hearts  and  more  cheerful  countenances. 

O 

"  Xow,  my  lub,  what  hab  you  to  say  ?  Ar'  dey 
guine  off  wid  us?''  said  he  to  Dinah,  as  she  again 
seated  herself  in  the  old  rocking-chair,  beside  the  table. 

"  Mebbe  Lucinda  will  join  us." 

"What 'bout  Philisee?" 

"  Dunno,  Tommy  ;  she  am  berry  foolish." 

"  What  said  Lucinda  ? " 

"  It  will  be  useless  to  sound  her." 

"  What !  The  women  are  willing  to  remain  slaves  ! 
Dis  is  a  strange  world.  I  s'posed,  from  what  you  said, 
dat  de  agreement  to  go  was  all  arranged." 

"  Philisee  throws  cold  water  upon  it." 

"What  said  she?" 

"JSToffin." 

"  Noffin  !  ah,  Dinah,  you  hab  deceived  me  !  "said  Un 
cle  Tom,  his  face  relapsing  into  its  wonted  sullenness. 

"  You  would  hab  me  lie  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  not  dat.  It  grieves  my  spirit  dat  de  niggers 
ar'  so  dead  to  freedom.  Well,  they  can  act  as  the  will 
leads :  my  spirit  says,  go  ahead." 


226  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"I  don't  see  how  we  can  do  nm.  We  shall  get  no 
help.  We  will  be  alone.  My  heart  recants,  Tommy," 
said  Dinah,  drawing  a  long  sigh,  and  leaning  back  in 
the  chair. 

Uncle  Tom  laid  his  pipe  upon  the  table,  scowled,  and 
Was  silent. 

"  What  yon  doin'  ? "  finally  said  his  wife. 

"  MeditatinM" 

"  "No.  good  — better  gib  nm  up." 

"  Do  you  saydat!  I  didn't  think,  afore,  dat  you 
was  fickle-minded  !  You  should  n't  fooled  your  own 
dear  Tommy." 

"  Pshaw  !  ISTo  sich  thing.  But  what 's  de  use  of 
trying,  when  ebery  prospect  is  against  success  ?  " 

"Will  you  keep  a  secret,  Dinah,  if  I  told  you?" 
said  Uncle  Tom,  brightening  up. 

"Try  me." 

"De  schoolmaster  himself  will  help  us  !  " 

"  He  can  do  noffin  but  talk,  an'  it  is  all  talk." 

"Yas,  yas ;  but  his  talk  is  to  some  purpose.  He 
can  git  up  a  rebellion  among  all  de  color'd  race  ;  an' 
den  we  shall  be  so  strong,  we  can  fight  our  way  in 
open  daylight." 

"  What !  an'  kill  massa,  and  missus  Mary,  and 
oberseer \  " 

"If  we  are  not  molested,  dey  will  not  be.  We 
shall  simply  act  togedder,  in  self-defense.  Dat  's  all, 
Dinah." 

"Shedding  of  blood  !  murder!  Ah,  clat  is  awful, 
awful !  Too  much  to  get  freedom,  j^o,  no,  no  !  " 

"  There  it  is  agin !  woman    all   ober.      I   say  dar 


227 

would  be  no  sliootin'.  Massa  and  oberseer  would  be 
afeerd,  when  dey  seed  our  muskets,  and  broad-swords, 
and  pistols.  Dey  would  leave  de  road,  an'  let  us  pass 
on  our  journey  to  de  North." 

"  Dunno.  If  oberseer  shoot  once,  he  might  hit  you, 
smack  in  de  head.  An'  den  wha'  would  be  de  feel- 
in's  of  your  own  Dinah?  She  would  curse  de  hour 
when  she  was  born.  No,  no ;  I  can  not  consent  to  be 
a  party  to  sich  an  arrangement." 

"  How  silly  you  talk.  You  will  do  noffin  yourself, 
an'  you  will  let  no  one  help.  I  begin  to  think,  you 
hab  revoked  your  decision.  I  tell  you  once  for  all, 
I  'm  bound  to  go,  dead  or  alive.  I  hate  —  from  de  bot- 
bottom  of  my  heart  —  I  hate  massa ;  an'  I'll  be  dam 
to  hell  if  I  will  stay  longer !  Dere  you  hab  it ;  you 
now  know'd  my  feelin's." 

Dinah  knew  not  what  to  say  in  reply.  She  was 
astounded  at  the  unyielding  purpose  of  her  husband. 
u  There  is  something  in  this  idea  of  being  free  that  I 
can  not  comprehend,"  she  thought  to  herself.  She 
rose  from  the  chair,  and  began  to  undress. 

"Guine  to  bed,  Dinah,"  inquired  her  husband. 

"  Yes,  Tommy.  My  heart  is  almost  broken.  I  got 
no  sleep  last  night,  and  I  expect  none  now  ;  but  I 
will  try  to  rest  my  bones,  so  that  I  can  do  my  labor 
to-morrow." 

"  You  are  too  abrupt.  I  wish  to  converse  wid  you  ; 
come,  sit  down  agin,  an'  hear  me  through." 

She  complied  with  his  request. 

"  You  love  massa  ?  "  he  said. 

"  Yes,  Tommy,  I'm  not  ashamed  to  acknowledge  dat." 


228  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

u  You  love  missus  Mary  ?  " 

"  She  bowed  her  head. 

"Do  they  love  you?" 

"  I  s'pose  so.     Why  ax  de  question  ?  " 

"  Berry  well.  Be  quiet  till  I  explain  to  you.  What 
do  you  think  of  me  ?  " 

"  Of  you,  my  own  dear  Tommy  ?  Why,  of  all  do 
world,  der  is  none  like  you.  You  fill  my  heart." 

"  An'  does  he  love  you?  " 

"  If  I  did  not  know  so,  I  would  die  next  minute." 

"  Den  de  upshot  of  de  matter  is,  dat  you  love  massa 
and  missus,  an'  you  s'pose  they  love  yon.  You  also  love 
your  own  Tom,  but  you  Tonow  he  'ciprocates  de  affec 
tion.  Now,  whom  do  you  prefer  to  serve  ?  dat 's  de 
question.  You  must  make  your  choice.  I  repeat,  I  'in 
guine  to  the  land  of  freedom  and  happiness." 

"  If  you  put  it  on  dat  ground,  I  am  not  at  a  loss 
how  to  answer,"  she  replied,  straightening  up  in  the 
chair,  and  looking  her  husband  full  in  the  face. 

"  Den,  what  do  you  say  ?  " 

"  Dar  is  my  hand,"  she  said,  proffering  it  to  her  hus 
band.  "  I  go  wid  you,  an'  may  my  tongue  cleave  to 
the  roof  of  my  mouth,  if  I  attempt  to  unsay  it." 

"Now,  you  act  like  Dinah  herself." 

"  I  shall  not  play  de  fool  longer  ;  I  'm  ready  to  act." 

"  As  we  are  both  now  determined  what  to  do,  we 
must  put  our  heads  togedder,  keep  dark,  and  plan 
how  to  make  our  escape." 

"  We  must  not  talk  it  at  de  quarters." 

"  Perhaps  some  of  them  will  think  more  favorably, 
if  it  is  known  dat  you  approve  of  my  project." 


229 

"  N"o,  no.  Do  n't  flatter  yourself :  they  do  not  ap 
preciate  how  it  is  to  be  free  of  our  yoke.  We  shall 
only  run  de  risk  of  exposing  ourselves.  Let  de  foolish 
people  alone.11 

"Jeff,  I  s'pects,  would  join  us,  if  he  was  sure  of 
guine  off  without  mishap." 

"He  is  your  worst  enemy.  Be  careful  what  you 
Bay  to  dat  ole  nigger.  He  would  betray  you  into  the 
hands  of  de  Philistines,  for  a  glass  of  grog." 

"  Berry  good,  Dinah.  As  you  say,  so  be  it.  We 
will  undress,  an'  sleep  in  quiet ;  in  a  day  or  two,  we 
will  make  our  arrangements."  So  saying,  Uncle  Tom 
pulled  off  his  clothes,  and  the  couple  were  soon  abed 
and  asleep. 

10* 


230  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OB 


CHAPTER  XIY. 

MIDNIGHT   MEETING    OF    SCHOOLMASTER,  UNCLE    TOM,    AND 
DINAH. 

Eight  and  forty  hours  had  elapsed  since  Mr.  Bates 
returned  from  the  brook.  His  interview  with  the 
blacks  was  unsatisfactory ;  he  was  disappointed  in  not 
meeting-  Uncle  Tom.  He  was  fearful  that  ill  luck  had 

o 

befallen  them,  and  his  mind  was  restless.  He  was 
shy  of  the  planter ;  and  on  each  day  after  he  came 
from  the  lane,  he  heard  the  young  gentlemen  recite 
their  lessons  as  rapidly  as  the  subject  would  admit  of, 
and  then  shut  himself  up  in  the  chamber,  under  pre 
tence  of  being  engaged  in  study.  In  one  sense,  this 
was  true.  He  was  engaged  in  study  ;  but  it  was  one 
of  a  different  nature  from  what  might  have  been  sup 
posed  by  his  employer,  if  he  had  thought  of  the  seclu 
sion  of  the  schoolmaster.  Mr.  Bates  fancied  that  he 
was  doing  God  service,  and  calmed  conscience  with 
the  suggestion  that  he  was  doing  evil  that  good  might 
come.  Anxious  to  know  the  "  state  of  affairs,"  he  left 
the  chamber ;  and,  after  looking  into  the  kitchen,  and 


TTXCLE  TOM5S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  231 

requesting  Lucinda,  who  was  idling  away  the  hour 
with  Pompey,  to  carry  up  to  his  room  some  warm 
water,  he  slipped  over  to  the  cabin. 

It  was  after  the  hour  of  nine,  by  the  wooden  clock 
that  hung  in  the  corner.  Uncle  Tom  was  reading 
aloud  to  Dinah. 

"  Ah  !  my  visit  is  inopportune.  I  merely  called  to 
bid  you  good  night,1'  he  remarked  —  ignorant  of  what 
had  passed  between  the  two  slaves,  during  the  past 
two  days. 

"Oh,  not  at  all,  mass'r.  Walk  in.  I  omitted  de 
reading,  last  night,  an'  was  bringing  up  now.  Dat  's 
all.  Be  seated,11  said  Uncle  Tom,  and  rising,  helped 
Mr.  Bates  to  a  chair. 

A  large  candle,  made  of  tallow  and  beeswax,  and 
Btuck  in  an  old  iron  candlestick,  stood  upon  the  table, 
and  lighted  the  room  very  well. 

"  You  do  not,  usually,  remain  out  of  bed  after  dark, 
Dinah  ?  "  remarked  the  schoolmaster,  as  he  seated  him 
self  by  the  table. 

"  Sometimes ;  jist  as  I  take  a  fancy." 

"  Massa,  I  suspect,  can  illy  afford  you  the  luxury  of 
a  light,"  said  he,  with  a  sneer. 

"  Oh,  la  !  always,  mass1!'  Bates,  when  we  want  urn," 
she  replied. 

"We  shall  not  want  um  much  longer,1'  remarked 
Uncle  Tom. 

"  Hush  !  Why,  man,  what  you "  exclaimed 

the  schoolmaster. 

"  Oh,  do  n't  be  afeerd.  Dinah  am  one  of  us — ya! 
va !  yah  !  "  rejoined  Uncle  Tom. 


232 

Mr.  Bates  was  agreeably  surprised.  lie  felt  more 
at  home,  and  regarded  Dinah's  conversion  as  an  omen 
of  success.  He  learned  why  Uncle  Torn  was  not  at 
the  brook,  and  was  happy  that  the  secret  was  safe.  It 
amused  Dinah  to  think  that  her  husband  remained  by 
her  side,  lest  his  absence  should  make  her  suspicious  ; 
and  he  thanked  his  stars  that  he  stayed  at  quarters  to 
win  her  over  to  his  project. 

The  schoolmaster  was  satisfied  that  all  was  right  yet, 
and  was  glad  that  he  had  the  forethought  thus  to  re 
lieve  his  mind  of  anxiety.  Uncle  Tom  relit  his  pipe, 
and  drew  his  chair  up  to  the  table,  lie  invited  his 
guest  to  join  in  "  the  smoke." 

"  Do  bowl  is  large,  an'  de  stem  am  newly  burn'd  in 
de  fire,"  said  he  as  an  inducement  to  accept  the  hospi 
tality  ;  bat  the  schoolmaster  declined,  and  drawing  a 
cigar  out  of  a  leathern  case,  puffed  away  at  that. 

Dinah  worked  hard  that  day  to  get  things  in  readi 
ness  for  a  remove.  She  looked  demurely  ;  but  more 
from  fatigue  than  by  reason  of  any  sensation  of  fear, 
or  consciousness  of  doing  wrong.  She  leaned  her  head 

O  O 

back  on  the  chair,  and  with  difficulty  kept  herself 
awake.  As  it  was,  she  dozed,  and  ere  long  was  fast 
asleep.  Her  husband  and  the  schoolmaster  continued 
to  smoke  and  talk. 

"If  they  will  not  join  us,"  said  the  latter,  referring 
to  the  other  slaves  on  the  plantation,  "  then  you  and 
your  own  family  can  go  with  me,  and  we  will  leave 
them  to  their  hapless  fate." 

"  Mebbe,  when  I  writes  to  urn  — " 


UXCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.  233 

c;  You  write  to  them !  why,  man,  you  know  not  how 
to  do  that!" 

"  Dis  nigger  will  learn  dat  accomplishment  when  he 
is  free.  Can  I  not,  mass 'r  ? " 

"  All !  very  true,"  said  the  schoolmaster.  "I  re 
collect,  I  told  him  so,"  he  added  to  himself.  "  Yes, 
Tom,  you  can  write  to  them  how  happily  you  are  off, 
and  tell  them  the  way  to  come,"  he  further  said,  mor 
tified  that  a  point  so  important  escaped  his  recollection 
at  such  a  critical  time.  The  truth  was,  he  had  assigned 
so  many  good  reasons  to  the  slave  in  favor  of  freedom, 
it  ought  to  create  no  surprise  if  some  of  them  wrere 
occasionally  out  of  his  mind. 

"  Mebbe,  den,  if  I  writes  to  um  arter  I  ?m  free,  de 
niggers  will  come  forward  an'  join  me." 

"  Upon  that  subject  it  is  not  worth  our  while  to  spec 
ulate.  We  should  now  apply  our  minds  to  the  means 
you  are  to  use  to  make  your  own  escape.  I  am  satis 
fied  that  you  are  bent  upon  it,  and  will  not  act  like  a 
coward. 

"  Ko,  sir  —  no  sir.  If  de  bailiff  takes  my  body,  it 
will  be  at  the  point  of  de  bayonet.  I  am  bound  to  go, 
dead  or  alive.  So,  mass'r,  dere  's  no  use  talkin'  to  dis 
nigger  'bout  fear." 

"Very  good.  Xow,  imprimis,  when  do  you  pro 
pose  to  start  I " 

"  Please,  mass'r,  talk  familiar  to  dis  nigger.    I  do  n't 

OO 

know  your  big  word." 

"  First,  let  me  understand  if  you  have  fixed  upon 
the  day  of  departure." 

"Dunno,  when  Dinah  an'  children  will  be  ready." 


23<±  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  She  has  fallen  asleep.  Wake  her;  for  the  quicker 
you  are  on  the  wing,  in  my  opinion,  the  better." 

The  slave  jogged,  his  wife. 

"  Come,  Dinah,  open  your  eyes.  It  is  ill-manners 
to  sleep  when  you  have  company." 

She  started  up,  and  looked  wildly;  for  she  was 
dreaming,  and  not  very  pleasantly,  when  disturbed. 
She  seemed  to  be  at  a  loss  as  to  where  she  was.  A 
moment's  gaze,  however,  dispelled  the  illusion,  and  she 
was  again  at  ease. 

"I  was  saying  to  your  husband,  that  we  must  bring 
this  project  of  escape  to  a  crisis  ;  and  the  first  thing  to 
determine,  was  the  time  when  we  shall  leave  the  val 
ley.  When  can  you  be  ready,  Dinah  ?  " 

"  As  soon  as  Tommy." 

"Let  me  see  —  how  many  children  have  you?" 

"  Three,  not  grown  up." 

"And  the  youngest  is  —  how  old?" 

"  Not  quite  two  years." 

"The  eldest  can  walk  — all  day?" 

"  I  s'pose  so." 

"How  old?" 

"  Oh,  I  reckon  as  much  as  nine  years.  We  lost  de 
one  afore  him  —  bless  her  poor  soul !" 

"Three  children!  and  the  eldest  not  nine  years  of 
age!  They  can  not  endure  a  long  journey,  over-land. 
Their  little  bodies  will  soon  ache,  if  they  are  compelled 
to  go  on  foot.  And  as  for  riding,  that  is  out  of  the 
question,  I  fear,  for  the  first  hundred  miles." 

"That  am  not  Tommy's  calculation  mass'r. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.  235 

"  "Well,  if  he  can  plan  so  as  to  avoid  the  march,  it  is 
very  desirable.  What  say  you,  Tom?" 

"  I  s'pects  dat  Abe  will  furnish  a  conveyance.  An' 
Jim  will  help  us  on  to  Winchester." 

"  Have  you  seen  him  ? " 

"  ISTo,  mass'r." 

"  Then  you  may  consider  his  aid  uncertain." 

"  Dunno,  mass'r,  but  I  reckon  not." 

"  You  did  not  see  him  on  Independence  day ;  I  did, 
Tom." 

"  A  good  friend  to  de  slave.  He  will  lend  a  helping 
hand." 

"  Before  that  time.  But  he  thinks  that  he  was  then 
duped ;  and  he  swore  to  me,  he  should  not  be  gam 
moned  again." 

"  I  can  explain  de  mishap  to  his  satisfaction." 

"  You  will  find  it  necessary  to  do  that,  or  you  will 
lean  on  a  broken  reed,  if  you  expect  assistance  from 
him." 

"  Mass'r,  you  know'd  more  than  I  do,  ginerally,  but 
Tom  is  ahead  of  you  dis  time.  Abe  an'  myself  hab 
know'd  de  oder,  from  de  day  we  war  as  high  as  dis 
table." 

u  You  misjudge  him  now.  Shall  I  repeat  what  he 
said  to  me?" 

"  Yes,  mass'r,  if  you  please." 

"  He  said  that  he  would  see  the  slaves  rot  in  perdi 
tion,  before  he  again  exposed  his  life  gratuitously.  A 
strong  expression." 

"  Oh,  that  was  kase  we  disappointei  him." 

"  If  you  still  have  confidence  in  his  integrity,  see 


236  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

him,  and  frankly  explain  the  failure.     Perhaps  he  will 
hear  you  ;  I  could  not  command  his  attention." 

"What  is  all  dis  talk?"  inquired  Dinah,  who  si 
lently  listened,  and  could  not  comprehend  its  import. 

"Coffin,  noffin,"  said  Tom. 

"  Dar  is  something,  though,  tell  me." 

"  I  say,  Dinah,  it  am  noffin.  Do  n't  speak  'bout  dat 
do  n't  concern  you." 

"  'Now  I  know'd  dar  was  something,  or  you  would 
not  gib  rne  such  a  look.  Explain  um  ! " 

"Oh!  a  small  matter  between  Tom  and  myself;  of 
no  particular  consequence,"  said  the  schoolmaster,  per 
ceiving  that  Dinah  was  disposed  to  be  importunate. 

"I  shall  be  ready  de  first  opportunity,  mass'r." 

"Are  you  well  provided  with  clothing?" 

"  Plenty  to  last  till  we  git  dar." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"Why,  dat  am  all  Tommy  mentioned." 

"Oh!  you  should  collect  together  as  many  as  you 
can  find,  and  ask  your  master  for  more." 

"  Is  there  not  an  abundance  in  de  JSTorth  ? " 

"  Certainly ;  but  you  must  remember  that  they  do 
not  come  of  themselves." 

"  What  was  you  talkin'  ?  "  inquired  Dinah,  who  had 
risen  from  the  table,  to  see  that  the  door  was  fastened. 

"That  is  right  —  we  want  no  intruders.  Is  the 
latch-string  pulled  in,  and  the  latch  itself  in  the  proper 
place?" 

"l^o  danger  of  eavesdroppers  now,  mass'r." 

"Hist — hist!"  whispered  her  husband,  "I  heard 
footsteps." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  237 

They  listened.  1SV>  noise,  except  that  of  the  cricket 
in  the  fireplace,  greeted  their  ears. 

"  Imagination,  Tom  ;  the  grave  is  not  more  silent," 
said  the  schoolmaster. 

Dinah  gave  a  shudder. 

"Wha'— what  de  trouble?"  asked  her  husband, 
perceiving  it.  "Are  you  afeerd  of  your  shadow? 
or  am  you  to  liab  de  ague?  Ginger  an'  pepper! 
you  must  not  wince  so  quick." 

"  Mass'r,  do  n't  speak  of  de  grave !  " 

"  Ah  !  association  of  ideas ;  perhaps  thinking  of 
your  little  daughter,  entombed  in  her  narrow  house." 

"  Oh !  mass'r,  if  I  should  speak  all  I  knowM,  you 
would,  I  reckon,  tremble  also." 

u  A  ghost  appeared  to  you,  Dinah  ? " 

"  Oh  !  worse  than  dat,  mass'r  —  worse  than  dat ! " 

"I  am  apprehensive  your  wife  is  getting  wild,  Tom. 
"We  must  confer  together  elsewhere ;  she  will  reveal 
all,  in  her  frenzy.  Though  this  is  an  admirable 
opportunity,  and  we  should  hurry,  yet  it  is  risky 
to  trust  a  woman  —  especially  a  romantic  one,"  said 
the  schoolmaster,  in  so  low  a  tone,  that  the  person 
to  whom  the  remark  was  addressed  scarcely  under 
stood  it  —  much  less  Dinah,  who  again  had  gone  to 
the  door. 

"Shall  I  tell  yon,  mass'r?  The  latch  is  tight,  an' 
de  debbil  will  not  appear,  so  long  as  de  candle  burns," 
she  remarked,  as  she  returned  to  the  table. 

"  If  you  will  promise  not  to  frighten  us." 

"  Can't  say  as  to  dat,  mass'r ;  I  shall  tell  de  truth, 
Btrike  whar'  it  may." 


238  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"You  delay  us  in  planning." 

"I  reckon  not.     It  will  help  us  on." 

"  Proceed  ;  but  be  brief." 

"You  must  know,  den,  mass'r,  dat,  de  oder  night,  I 
went  to  bed  wid  my  feelins'  on.  Shortly  arter,  i  was 
buried  up  in  de  ground." 

"Tush!  hobgoblin  story,  as  I  supposed.  I  can 
imagine  the  rest." 

"I  heard  a  noise  —  such  as  the  river  makes  when 
de  water  pours  over  the  falls,  up  by  big  bend.  I 
thought  it  was  not  far  off,  an'  dat  perhaps  the  dirt 
would  be  washed  off,  so  I  could  git  out.  All  was 
darkness;  I  could  see  noffin.  I  lay  still,  expectin' 
ebry  moment  to  feel  de  cloven  foot.  All  at  once  —  in 
de  twinklin  of  an  eye  —  de  earth  caved  in  ;  a  terrible 
sound  —  as  if  de  whole  sky  was  rent  wid  thunder  — 
immediately  followed  ;  an'  den  it  was  as  light  as  day." 

"A  dream,  Dinah.  You  soon  was  .awake,  I  pre 
sume." 

"  Of  course  I  wras  awake,  mass'r,  or  I  should  not 
now  be  able  to  tell  you  what  I  seed." 

"  Undoubtedly  you  believe  so ;  but  then  you  was 
asleep." 

"Shall  I  tell  you  more?" 

"  If  you  wish  to  do  so.     Tom,  be  not  alarmed." 

"  ISTaw,  mass'r ;  do  n't  be  afeerd  of  dat." 

"  Proceed,  Dinah." 

"I  rose  up,  an'  my  little  Emma  —  in  her  white 
chemise — jist  as  we  laid  her  in  de  coffin — " 

"Oh!  Emma!  Emma!"  exclaimed  Uncle  Tom, 
jumping  up,  unable  to  contain  himself  longer  in  the 


239 

chair ;  "  had  she  on  dat  nice  white  cap,  which  these 
hands  tied,  an'  kissed  when  de  lid  was  closed  ober  her? " 

"  De  identical  cap,  Tommy." 

"  Why  did  you  not  tell  me  dis  afore  ?  " 

"  She  come  running  toward  me  ;  an'  I  held  out  my 
hand  to  her,  and  was  'bout  to  ax  her  a  question  ;  when 
lo !  the  brightness  of  de  light  dat  encompassed  her 
poor  body  so  dazzled  my  eyes,  that  I  staggered  and 
fell  upon  my  face!" 

"  And  the  fall,  I  suspect,  brought  you  to  your  senses." 

''"Why,  mass'r,  I  say  dat  I  was  awake,  and  know'd 
my  situation  as  well  as  I  now  know  dat  you  sit  in 
de  cheer." 

"You  think  so ;  but  how  could  you  be  buried  up  in 
the  ground  and  remain  alive?  Foolish  woman,  you 
would  smother  to  death." 

"  Mebbe  it  was  my  spirit." 

"Pshaw  !  Who  told  you,  Dinah,  that  the  spirit  left 
the  body  before  death  ? " 

"The  preacher  has  told  of  spirits." 

"Ah!  but  they  are  disembodied  spirits  —  away 
from  the  earthly  tenement,  perhaps  forever." 

"  So  he  said ;  but  not  certainly  for  forever.  If  they 
can  come  back  after  thousands  of  years,  why  not, 
mass'r,  arter  de  lapse  of  an  hour  or  a  day?" 

"  Let  us  dismiss  the  subject,  and  think  of  freedom." 

"  I  was  guine  to  tell  you,  mass'r,  how  I  did  not  lay 
but  an  instant,  an'  dat  Emma  beckoned  to  me." 

"  And  did  you  come?" 

"You  had  better  believe  I  did;  and  dat,  in  a  cloud 
of  glory,  we  ascended  high  in  de  air.  I  looked  in  dis 


240  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

direction,  and  here  was  de  ole  cabin  ;  but  I  could  not 
see  Tommy.  I  thought  perhaps  he  was  off  in  de 
North,  an'  so  I  cast  my  eyes  'way  dar,  but  could  see 
noffin  but  white  people.  A  person  dat  resembled  one 
of  de  angels  pictured  in  de  Bible,  inquired  what  I 
would  find?  I  answered,  my  dear  husband;  and  de 
angel  remarked  that  the  colored  people  dwelled  in  one 
country,  an'  de  white  in  anoder.  I  instantly  turned 
around  ;  for  I  know'd,  mass'r,  whar'  de  color'd  people 
dwell'd,  and  I  beheld  Tommy  an'  Caesar  dancing  to 
Jeff's  ole  fiddle  as  loosely  as  eber  I  seed  um  during 
my  whole  life." 

"Did  that  content  you?" 

"I  was  so  tickled  at  the  antics  which  they  cut 
up,  dat  I  tried  to  burst  out  laughing;  but,  most  mi 
raculously,  a  vail,  at  that  very  moment,  was  drawn 
ober  my  countenance,  and  I  found  myself  in  de  bed 
yonder! " 

"Nothing  but  a  dream,  Dinah  ;  and  if,  ten  years 
hence,  you  should  happen  to  have  a  similar  manifesta 
tion,  I  hope  that  you  will  behold  your  Tommy  in 
the  North  —  settled  upon  a  farm,  with  a  comfortable 
house,  a  large,  thrifty  orchard,  and  the  pastures  full 
of  cattle,  horses,  and  sheep.  And  instead  of  frolick 
ing  with  a  fiddler,  I  trust  you  will  find  him  happy  in 
the  enjoyment  of  those  sensible  and  substantial  pleas 
ures  that  belong  to  responsible  manhood." 

"  He  can  not  appear  happier,  mass'r,  however  he 
may  feel." 

"The  brutes  whisk  and  play,  but  would  you  change 
with  them  even  your  present  low  lot  ? " 


"  Of  course  not,  mass'r ;  for  when  they  die,  that  is 
de  end  of  um.  Animals  will  not  rise,  like  us  slaves, 
to  de  life  immortal." 

"Very  well;  let  us  stop  moralizing.  It  is  late, 
and  if  you  expect  to  succeed,  we  must  agree  upon 
some  plan  of  escape.  What  do  you  say,  Tom  ?  " 

"We  will  be  ready  by  Monday,"  he  replied,  with 
difficulty  restraining  himself  from  gaping. 

"The  time  is  easily  named;  but  it  will  require 
concert  of  action  to  improve  it." 

"  You  can  see  Abe,  an'  git  him  to  take  us  on  from 
Winchester?" 

"I  can  not  do  so,  without  exciting  the  suspicion  of 
Mr.  Erskine.  You  must  send  word  to  the  hostler 
through  some  other  channel." 

"  Den,  trust  dis  nigger  for  flat.  I  'in  guine  to  bed," 
said  the  negro ;  and  without  more  ado,  began  to 
undress. 

"  Dere  's  no  use  of  talkin'  to  Tommy  now,  mass'r 
Bates ;  he  will  be  asleep  in  five  minutes,"  said  Dinah, 
who  also  began  to  show  symptoms  of  drowsiness. 

"So  be  it,  then.  Remember  that  Monday  is  only 
two  days  off,  and  you  have  but  little  time  for  prepara 
tion.  Improve  it,  for  this  is  my  last  proffer,"  replied 
the  schoolmaster;  and  with  evident  reluctance,  he 
raised  the  latch  of  the  door,  and  returned  as  quietly 
as  the  stillness  of  midnight  would  admit  of,  to  his 
chamber  at  the  mansion. 


242  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH      OK 


CIIAPTEK  XT 

CASST. 

The  sun  had  been  looking  into  the  ^abin  for  at  least 
an  hour,  in  the  morning,  before  Uncle  Tom  and  Dinah 
were  astir.  Having  broken  the  rule  which  they  made, 
to  go  to  bed  punctually  at  nine  o'clock,  it  is  not  sur 
prising  that  they,  in  this  instance,  infringed  upon  their 
rule  to  get  up  precisely  at  five  o'clock.  The  children, 
however,  were  not  aware  that  it  was  midnight  when 
the  candle  was  blown  out,  and  awaking  at  the  usual 
time,  wondered,  as  they  rolled  and  tossed  in  the  trun 
dle  bed,  why  mamma  and  papa  slept  soundly  so  long. 

At  last  the  eldest  ventured  to  get  up  and  dress  him 
self.  He  went  out  at  the  door  to  stretch  his  limbs  in 
the  fresh  air.  As  he  was  standing  under  the  veran 
dah,  yawning,  with  his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his 
trowsers,  Hector  came  along,  on  his  way  to  the  corn 
field. 

"Sick  in  yer  cabin,  Joe?"  he  asked. 

"I  s'pose  so." 

"  S'pose  !     Do  n't  you  know  ? " 


243 

"The  ole  folks  are  not  up  yet." 

"Dat's  queer;  I  reckon  mass'r  oberseer  will  look 
arter  Uncle  Tom." 

Hector  was  not  sure  whether  Joe  was  quizzing  or 
not.  He  thought  he  would  satisfy  himself,  and  walked 
to  the  door  and  looked  in.  Uncle  Tom  was  just  get 
ting  up. 

"  Rather  late.  Goin'  to  your  work  without  break 
fast?1' 

"Why  do  you  ax  sich  foolish  question,  Hector?" 

"  'Kase  I  hab  not  seen  the  smoke  curl  on  the  top  of 
yer  chimney  dis  niornmV 

"Pooh  !  jist  be  good  enough  to  attend  to  your  own 
business.  I  shall  do  my  own  hoeing  afore  dark," 
gruffly  remarked  Uncle  Tom. 

"  Up  late  last  night,  I  should  n't  wonder — eh  ? " 

Our  hero  was  nonplussed.  Hector's  visit  was  unex 
pected,  and  he  felt  ashamed  that  he  overslept.  He 
was  afraid  to  answer,  lest  he  might  betray  himself. 
Luckily,  Dinah  was  awakened  by  the  dialogue,  and 
perceiving  her  husband's  embarrassment,  came  to  the 
rescue. 

"Tell  massV  oberseer,  Hector,  that  Tommy  over 
worked  himself  yesterday,  and  is  ashamed  to  own  it." 

"Gib  him  rumatism,  an'  ole  bones  ach'd?" 

"Yes,  yes.  He  feels  better  'though;  don't  you, 
Tommy  ? " 

"  I  '11  show  um  when  I  git  into  the  field,"  said  he; 
and  kindling  some  pine-kots  in  the  fireplace,  he  asked 
his  wife  to  make  haste  in  cooking.  She  was  spry  in 
spreading  the  table,  and  preparing  the  breakfast.  She 


24-i  LIFE    AT    THE   SOUTH  I    Oil 

warmed  some  potatoes  that  were  cooked  the  clay  be~ 
fore,  and  cut  off  a  few  slices  of  cold  boiled  bacon; 
and  this,  with  corn  cake  baked  in  the  griddle  the 
evening  previous,  constituted  the  entertainment  to 
which  she  invited  her  husband. 

"There,  Tommy,  make  your  morning  meal.'1  sail 
she,  placing  a  chair  by  the  table  for  him  to  sit  in;  "I 
will  now  dress  de  children,  and  eat  presently." 

"  I  wonder  if  dat  jealous  nigger  did  n't  s 'pose  he 
cotcli'd  me?  "We  know'd  too  much;  was  not  dat  so, 
Dinah?"  said  Uncle  Tom,  as  he  pounced  upon  the 
victuals,  and  pleased  that  Hector  learned  nothing  to 
create  suspicion. 

"He  left  as  empty  as  he  come  —  the  dunce!  It  is 
none  of  his  business  when  you  dress  or  undress.  He 
has  carried  his  head  mighty  high  sin'  he  beat  you 
plantin1  corn.  When  he  has  seen  ten  years  more,  per 
haps  he  can  do  as  much  as  you.  Let  him  wait  till 
then,  afore  he  brags  too  big." 

"  How  I  likes  to  hear  you  talk,  Dinah.  Go  on  ;  I  'm 
in  sich  a  hurry  dat  I  hab  no  time  now,"  he  said;  and 
swallowing  the  food  as  fast  as  possible,  was  soon  ready 
to  go  to  his  work. 

"Don't  forget  to  git  things  togedder  for  Monday; 
an'  let  Joe  spell  you  as  much  as  he  can,  for  we  have  a 
long  jaunt  ahead." 

"  Xeber  fear,  Tommy." 

"  Dinah  dressed  the  children ;  and  after  finishing 
her  usual  routine  of  morning  duty,  busied  herself  in 
making  preparations  to  go  North.  She  thought  of 
many  things  she  would  like  to  take  with  her;  but 


245 

how  they  were  to  be  carried  was  a  mystery.  Then, 
what  she  would  leave,  puzzled  her.  The  coverlets, 
which  cost  so  many  hours  of  hard  labor  to  quilt,  and 
which  pleased  her  fancy  so  much,  must  be  taken  along. 
The  feather  bed  was  very  near  her  heart ;  and  it  would 
be  wicked  to  throw  away  that  china  tea-set,  which 
Mrs.  Erskine,  on  her  deathbed,  gave  to  her  dutiful 
Dinah.  And  then,  that  charming  young  red  heifer, 
so  beautiful  to  the  eye,  which  she  had  fed  and  caressed 
from  a  calf — to  say  nothing  of  the  "six  quart  milk 
ing" —  how  could  she  leave  the  fine  creature  behind! 

These  thoughts  occupied  her  mind,  and  troubled  it. 
Her  heart  began  to  grow  sad,  and  she  moved  with  a 
slower  step. 

It  was  getting  toward  noon,  and  nothing  was  over 
the  fire  for  dinner.  Her  husband  would  be  prompt, 
for  he  ate  a  light  breakfast.  She  hung  the  large  iron 
pot  upon  the  crane,  and  told  Joe  to  go  to  the  spring 
and  get  a  pail  of  water.  As  he  started  upon  this 
errand,  a  negress,  not  over  twenty-five  years  of  age  — 
who  went  by  the  name  of  Cassy —  came  into  the 
cabin.  She  was  short  and  plump,  with  a  roguish  eye. 
Full  of  talk,  and  in  a  constant  giggle,  she  rallied 
Dinah  upon  her  laziness. 

"Need  n't  give  no  excuses,  ole  woman;  I  knows 
um  all,"  she  said,  as  Dinah  attempted  to  defend, 
herself. 

"What  you  mean,  Cassy?     I  hab  nothin  secret.*' 

"  O  no !  —  noffin  ;  jist  as  though  I  did  n't  see  mass'r 
Bates  stroll  under  the  verandah  last  night!  —  ah,  ha! 

missus ;  you  can't  fool  me." 
11 


24:6  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OB 

"Is  it  strange,  if  he  did?  He  is  alwars  taldn'  liis 
walks." 

"  Mebbe  not.  But  he  stay'd  late  —  long,  long  arter 
folks  war  abed.  Some  mischief  afoot,  I  '11  warrant  ye." 

"How  you  talk,  Gassy.  A  whim  you  've  got  into 
your  wool." 

"  Do  n't  you  s'pose  I  know  ?  Be  honest  now,  an' 
own  up." 

"  If  you  know,  out  with  it." 

"I  seed  a  light  through  the  latchstring  hole !  There, 
deny  that,  if  you  can." 

"Pooh!  did  n't  you  eber  witness  that  circumstance 
afore  ?  " 

"Well,  I  must  own  I  neber  did,  in  your  cabin;  it 
was  this  that  surprised  me.  Come,  Dinah,  confess  — 
ya !  ya !  ya !  I  know  a  thing  or  two  'bout  mass'r 
Bates,  myself." 

"So  Philisee  remarked,  de  oder  day." 

"  Philisee  !  what  did  that  wench  have  the  saucy  im 
pudence  to  say  ?  I  '11  teach  her  to  mind  her  own  busi 
ness,  if  she  keeps  up  her  scandal." 

"  No  slur,  Gassy." 

"  What  was  she  bold  enough  to  say  ?  " 

"  A  queer  question.  Why,  you  knows  it  is  contrary 
to  my  principles  to  tell  tales  ;  you  must  excuse  me." 

"  But  I  won't  excuse  you,  Dinah.  You  shall  expose 
that  mischievous  babbler.  Come,  explain  ;  I  shall  not 
be  jealous  of  mass'r  Bates  wid  you! " 

"  Jealous  of  mass'r  Bates  wid  me !  Lor',  Gassy ! 
sich  an  idea  neber  entered  my  head." 

"  Out  with  it,  then ;  do  n't  be  afeerd  of  your  shadow." 


247 

"  I  s'pose  I  must  tell  you,  I  hab  gone  so  far.  You 
must  know  that  she  said  —  but  you  will  take  it  to 
heart,  Gassy ;  it  is  wise,  my  ole  man  allows,  to  be 
silent." 

"  Pshaw  !  woman  proceed." 

"  She  said  mass'r  Bates  was  alwars  at  your  door. 
There,  you  have  it ;  now  I  hope  you  're  satisfied." 

Gassy  bowed  her  head  upon  her  bosom,  and  sighed. 

"  I  thought  it  would  injure  your  feelings.  I  am  so 
sorry  I  spoke  ;  but  you  would  make  me,  Gassy." 

"  Never  mind  —  never  mind.  You  are  good  woman, 
and  I  hope  you  will  not  think  meanly  of  me.  Mass'r 
Bates  is  winning  in  his  .manners,  and  an  artful  gem- 
man.  I  found  him  out  too  late.  I  seed  him  go  into 
your  cabin  last  night.  I  watched  until  he  come  out; 
it  was  very  late.  I  knew  Uncle  Tom  was  home,  but 
I  considered  it  my  duty  to  caution  you.  Not  that 
I  am  jealous — oh,  no!  You  do  not  believe  so, 
do  you  ? " 

"  Bless  you,  I  hope  not ;  there  is  no  cause,  certainly." 

"  I  must  hurry  back,  for  Jeff —  my  good,  musical 
Jeff,  will  soon  be  in  for  his  dinner.  So  keep  mum, 
Dinah,  will  you?" 

"  Give  yourself  no  uneasiness ;  I  shall  not  peach." 

Cassy's  mind  was  in  a  flurry  all  the  afternoon.  She 
said  more  to  Dinah  than  she  intended.  But  the  secret 
was  out,  and  she  must  make  the  most  of  it.  If  Jeff 
could  be  kept  in  ignorance,  she  would  be  content,  and 
the  schoolmaster  might  enjoy  his  triumph  in  welcome. 
Thus  she  ruminated,  and  thought  of  a  thousand  ways 
to  blind  the  eyes  of  her  husband. 


24:8  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH;    OK 

Dinah  was  astonished  at  the  conduct  of  Mr.  Bates, 
and  did  not  know  what  to  think  of  him.  She  ex 
pressed  her  doubts  of  his  good  intention,  and  suggested 
to  Uncle  Tom  the  propriety  of  delaying  their  departure 
beyond  Monday ;  but  lie  insisted  that  they  should  not 
believe  a  word  that  Gassy  uttered.  "  She  '  was  a  slat 
tern'  to  catch  daws,"  he  said. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.  249 


CIIAPTEE    XYI. 

SUNDAY. 

The  experiments  of  the  chemist  on  an  ounce  of  gold 
or  mercury,  when  properly  repeated  and  established, 
authorize  general  conclusions  concerning  the  properties 
of  all  the  gold  or  mercury  in  the  world.  So  with  the 
various  sects  and  classes  of  mankind :  the  character 
and  disposition  of  one,  it  is  alleged,  may  justify  a 
general  conclusion  as  to  the  character  of  all.  To  a 
certain  extent,  this  hypothesis  is  true.  But  locality, 
education, —  even  the  blood  itself,  which,  "more  than 
all  things  else,"  is  the  dividing  line  in  human  nature, 
like  the  seed  in  the  vegetable  kingdom — these  proper 
ties,  if  we  may  be  allowed  the  expression,  create  many 
exceptions,  and  so  many  to  the  general  conclusion,  that 
it  is  unsafe  to  form  an  opinion  of  the  character  and 
disposition  of  an  entire  sect  or  class,  from  what  we 
may  happen  to  learn  concerning  that  of  a  particular 
member. 

Dinah,  however,  thought  otherwise.  The  informa 
tion  communicated  by  Gassy  concerning  Mr.  Bates,  had 


250  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

a  tendency  to  lessen  her  respect  for  the  man,  and  to 
impair  her  confidence  in  his  doctrine  of  freedom.  She 
was  afraid  that  she  should  add  the  guilt  of  disobedience 
to  the  misery  she  might  be  called  upon  to  endure  in  a 
strange  land,  and,  after  sleeping  upon  her  fear,  so  ex 
pressed  herself  to  Uncle  Tom.  The  suggestion  did 
not  change  his  views.  He  had  as  much  faith  as  ever 
in  the  good  intention  and  veracity  of  their  friend. 

It  was  Sunday.  The  morning  sky  was  bright,  with 
only  a  cloud  or  two  floating  in  the  high,  blue  ether. 
The  weather  was  enervating,  and  bid  fair  to  be  hot 
during  the  day.  Every  thing  —  animate  and  inani 
mate —  indicated  rest.  The  flocks  did  not  seem  to 
bleat,  nor  the  herds  low,  as  on  other  days.  The  ma 
tured  blades  of  grass  did  not  sway  to  and  fro,  and 
the  wheat,  mellow  for  the  sickle  and  cradle,  was  mo 
tionless.  The  waterfall  was  placid,  and  the  heavens 
appeared  to  be  breathless,  and  smiled  in  beauty. 

There  was  quiet,  too,  at  the  quarters.  Hector  and 
Philisee,  Jeff  and  Gassy,  were  in  their  respective  cab 
ins  ;  there  was  no  bustle.  The  morning  meal  seemed 
to  prepare  and  clear  itself  away,  so  still  did  the  ne- 
gresses  perform  their  domestic  duties.  All,  both  old 
and  young,  looked  clean  and  comfortable.  If  a  child 
strayed  into  the  yard,  it  was  to  pluck  a  rose  or  cull  a 
flower  for  mamma  or  papa  inside  the  door. 

Joe  came  to  Philisee  with  a  request  from  his  mother 
to  step  into  her  cabin.  The  volatile  slave  sent  back 
word  that  she  was  listening  to  the  reading  of  the 
Bible,  and  must  be  excused.  Dinah  felt  the  rebuke 
keenly,  but  did  not  murmur.  She  was  sewing  together 


.  251 

the  sleeve  of  a  new  calico  dress.  Conscience  smote 
her,  and  she  laid  it  aside  in  the  work-basket.  If  she 
must  work  on  that  day  in  order  to  go  North  on  the 
next,  she  told  her  husband  he  must  postpone  their  de 
parture.  He  reluctantly  assented,  but  said  he  thought 
there  would  be  an  abundance  of  time  on  the  morrow 
to  get  everything  in  readiness. 

A  minister  of  the  Methodist  persuasion,  riding  his 
circuit,  preached  every  fortnight,  during  the  summer 
season,  about  half  a  mile  up  the  river.  This  was  the 
regular  day  for  public  worship.  Soon  after  nine 
o'clock,  the  slaves  issued  out  from  the  quarters,  taking 
with  them  all  the  children,  and  in  an  orderly  manner 
proceeded  up  the  road  to  attend  the  meeting.  Arrived 
at  the  place,  they  seated  themselves  upon  the  benches 
that  were  conveniently  arranged  under  the  shade  of 
two  stately  oaks,  and  silently  and  calmly  awaited  the 
coming  of  the  preacher.  There  was  an  unusally  large 
attendance  from  the  plantations  in  that  vicinity,  the 
weather  was  so  propitious.  The  assemblage  was 
mostly  composed  of  blacks,  some  of  whom  were  known 
to  have  purchased  their  freedom.  But  the  principal 
part  were  slaves.  One  class,  however,  could  not  have 
been  separated  from  the  other  with  any  proximity  to 
correctness,  unless  the  task  had  been  undertaken  by  a 
person  accurately  informed,  so  similar  were  the  ap 
pearance  and  dress  of  both  bond  and  free. 

Ten  o'clock  was  the  hour  designated  for  the  exer 
cises  to  commence.  It  was  past  the  time,  and  the 
minister  was  not  in  his  place  ;  neither  could  he  be  seen 
coming  in  the  distance.  An  accident  of  some  kind, 


252  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OF. 

certainly,  must  have  befallen  him,  or  he  would  not 
have  failed  to  be,  there,  was  the  current  belief  among 
all  the  congregation.  Tie  is  sick,  or  been  thrown  from 
his  horse  —  poor  man  !  said  one:  he  maybe  dead  — 
bless  his  soul!  whispered  another:  and  whatever  his 
condition,  he  had  their  devout  and  heartfelt  prayers 
for  a  safe  deliverance  from  earthly  ills,  or  a  happy 
repose  in  the  courts  of  heaven. 

The  people  remained  quietly  on  the  benches  for  an 
hour,  and  then,  as  the  preacher  was  not  present,  they 
began  to  show  symptoms  of  a  disposition  to  leave. 
Mr.  Bates  ascended  the  pulpit,  and  proposed  that  the 
congregation  should  sing  a  hymn  or  psalm,  before  they 
separated.  To  this  suggestion  all  readily  assented,  and 
immediately  all,  rising  from  their  seats,  joined  in  the 
following  anthem : 

"  How  long,  eternal  God  !  how  long 
Shall  men  of  pride  blaspheme  ? 
Shall  saints  be  made  their  endless  song, 
And  bear  immortal  shame  ? 

Canst  thou  forever  sit  and  hear 

Thine  holy  name  profaned  ? 
And  still  thy  jealousy  forbear, 

And  still  withhold  thine  hand  ? 

What  strange  deliv'rance  hast  thou  shown 

In  ages  long  before  ? 
And  now  no  oilier  God  we  own, 

No  other  God  adore. 

Thou  didst  divide  the  raging  sea, 

By  thy  resistless  might, 
To  make  thy  tribes  a  wondrous  way, 

And  then  secure  their  flight." 


253 

"Whoever  of  our  readers  may  have  attended  a  camp- 
meeting,  will  appreciate  the  scene  which  we  attempt 
to  describe.  Oh  !  who  has  not,  in  his  younger  days, 
when  the  future,  as  he  scanned  its  long  vista  with  a 
puerile  imagination,  appeared  to  be  an  elysium  strewed 
with  the  choicest  flowers,  and  sweet  with  the  rarest 
perfumes,  stood  in  the  bower  that  nature  made,  arched 
all  over  with  the  boughs  of  trees  that  reared  their  ma 
jestic  tops  to  the  skies  in  primeval  magnificence,  and 
heard,  in  rapt  admiration,  the  melody  of  patriarchs 
and  prophets,  as  it  was  chanted  by  some  meek  presid 
ing  elder  or  devout  bishop,  and  echoed  back  with  an 
increased  volume  from  the  vast  amphitheater  of  chris- 
tians  and  penitents  that  lay  in  sacred  grandeur  before 
him?  and  when  the  holy  chant  lost  its  last  cadence 
upon  the  ear,  and  the  pious  song-book  was  closed  by 
the  priestly  chorister,  and  his  eyes  gently,  and  as  if 
by  intuition,  closed,  and  with  suppliant  look  and  up 
lifted  arms  he  knelt  upon  his  knees,  who,  we  ask,  has 
not  then  exclaimed  in  his  heart,  as  did  Uncle  Tom 
now  with  his  mouth,  "Mass'r,  let  us  pray?" 

We  need  not  add,  that  the  whole  assembly  beneath 
the  oaks,  instantly  knelt  upon  the  ground,  and  the 
schoolmaster,  with  almost  indecent  haste,  commenced, 
and,  with  an  unfeeling  voice,  uttered  the  following 
prayer: 

O !  thou  eternal  God,  in  whom  we  live,  and  move, 
and  have  our  being  :  enable  us,  we  beseech  thee,  to 
pass  the  week  to  come  in  that  manner  which  shall  be 
most  profitable  to  ourselves,  and  not  dishonorable  to 
thy  gracious  name. 


254:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    (jR 

"We  have  no  occasion  to  review  the  years  which  are 
passed,  in  order  to  find  cause  of  humiliation  in  thy 
sight :  every  day  and  every  week  suggests  abundant 
matter  for  painful  reflection,  and  adds  to  our  convic 
tion  that  "  we  are  all  as  an  unclean  thing,  and  all  our 
righteousness  as  filthy  rags."  O  Lord !  if  thou 
shouldst  mark  iniquity,  who  could  stand  ?  Enable  us, 
therefore,  to  confess  our  manifold  sins  with  unreserved 
sorrow  and  shame  ;  to  own  that  they  are  more  in  num 
ber  than  the  hairs  of  our  head,  "  and  a  sore  burden 
too  heavy  for  us  to  bear;"  and  to  present  ourselves, 
in  deep  contrition,  at  thy  throne  of  grace,  in  hum 
ble  faith,  through  our  great  and  compassionate  High 
Priest,  that  we  may  obtain  mercy  and  find  grace  to 
help  in  time  of  need.  With  shame  and  regret,  we 
confess  that  our  souls  are  fallen  under  condemnation, 
and  our  bodies  into  bondage.  We  pray  thee  that  we 
may  not  be  confounded,  when  we  would  lift  up  our 
hearts  unto  thee.  Give  us  true  repentance  and  living 
faith ;  discover  to  us  every  thing  in  our  lives  which 
displeases  thee,  or  which  may  be  useful  to  us  to  know, 
so  that  we  may  approach  thee  in  genuine  poverty  of 
spirit,  and  with  sincere  and  fervent  longings  after 
those  blessings  which  we  ask  with  our  lips,  and  hope 
to  enjoy  hereafter  on  earth  if  we  are  true  to  ourselves. 
Enlighten  our  understandings :  may  thy  holy  word  be 
treasured  up  in  our  memories,  written  in  our  hearts, 
and  made  legible  in  our  tempers  and  conduct.  May 
we  be  clothed  with  humility :  enable  us  to  "  do  unto 
all  men  as  we  would  they  should  do  unto  us  : "  to  live 
on  terms  of  amity  and  equality  with,  and  to  do  good 


255 

unto  all  men,  "  but  especially  to  them  that  are  of  the 
household  of  faith." 

Finally,  we  beseech  thee  to  be  with  us  in  all  our 
employments,  and  may  we  act  in  them,  as  under  thine 
eye,  and  as  it  becomes  thy  redeemed  people.  These 
are  our  prayers,  through  thy  Son,  Jesus,  Emanuel,  to 
whom,  with  Thee  and  the  Spirit,  we  ascribe  co-equal 
and  eternal  praise  and  adoration.  Amen. 

The  believers, —  and  there  were  many — responded 
amen  ;  and  rising  from  their  suppliant  posture,  were 
about  to  separate.  The  schoolmaster  remarked  that 
he  fortunately  had  a  book  of  sermons  in  his  pocket, 
and,  if  agreeable,  he  would  read  one  for  their  edifica 
tion.  Happy  to  prolong  the  meeting,  the  hearers 
universally  assented  to  this  proposition. 

Mr.  Bates  at  once  opened  his  book  and  began  to 
read  from  a  discourse  which,  he  announced,  was  com 
posed  by  Mr.  Wesley ;  but  we  have  in  vain  ransacked 
the  libraries  of  several  divines  for  a  copy  to  peruse  at 
our  leisure.  Its  theme  was  the  escape  of  the  chosen 
people  of  Israel  from  Egypt,  and  their  pilgrimage  to 
Canaan.  It  treated  of  adversity  and  prosperity.  Ser 
vility  and  drudgery,  penury  and  punishment,  were  the 
concomitants  of  the  first ;  verdant  vales  and  flowery 
fields,  freedom  of  thought  and  independence  of  action, 
characterized  the  last.  Egypt  was  a  contracted  and 
miserable  hovel :  Canaan  an  expansive  and  delightful 
palace.  It  dwelt  upon  this  contrast,  and  pictured  with 
much  fullness  of  detail,  the  horrors  of  the  former,  and 
the  glories  of  the  latter.  The  zig-zag  peregrination 
in  the  wilderness  was  described  at  length ;  and  the 


256 

account  of  that  wonderful  and  beneficent  prodigy — the 
supply  of  manna  to  the  starving  tribes — was  beau 
tifully  written,  and  emphatically  enunciated  bv  the 
reader. 

The  congregation  listened  attentively.  Their  interest 
increased  in  the  subject  as  Mr.  Bates  proceeded  from 
point  to  point ;  and  when  he  approached  the  termina 
tion  of  the  discourse,  they  rose  up  one  after  the  other— 
especially  the  slaves — unable  longer  to  contain  them 
selves  on  the  benches,  so  interested  had  they  become 
in  the  extraordinary  trials  and  protracted  sufferings 
of  the  chosen  people  of  God,  now,  for  the  first  time, 
minutely  and  particularly  narrated  to  them. 

The  sun  had  passed  the  meridian  when  Mr.  Bates 
closed  his  book.  Under  the  mask  of  disinterestedness, 
he  excused  his  inability  to  entertain  them  further,  and 
the  multitude  soon  dispersed  to  their  several  homes. 

The  exercises  at  the  oaks  were  unusual.  The  part 
which  the  schoolmaster  had  taken  in  them  was  unex 
pected  ;  and  this,  with  the  sermon  he  read,  was  the 
subject  of  much  remark  among  the  blacks  all  the  after 
noon.  The  meeting,  instead  of  being  a  "common 
place  affair,"  produced  a  sensation.  There  were  no 
indications,  however,  of  humiliation,  repentance,  and 
prayer:  nothing  that  looked  like  a  "revival."  It 
was  talked  of  in  the  same  spirit  as  if  the  people  had 
been  celebrating  some  anniversary,  or  had  attended  a 
show.  The  expertness  of  the  mountebank,  or  the 
drollery  of  the  clown  —  the  strength  of  the  lion,  or 
tameness  of  the  elephant  —  the  nimbi eness  of  the 
pony,  or  the  cunning  of  dandy  jack, —  would  not  have 


UNCLE  TOM?3  CABIN"  AS  IT  IS.  1>57 

been  discussed  with  more  freedom  and  particularity, 
than  was  the  admirable  performance  of  the  schoolmaster 
on  the  present  occasion.  He  had  appeared  in  a  new 
character,  and  sustained  himself  to  his  own  satisfac 
tion,  and  the  delight  of  the  audience. 

Uncle  Tom  and  Dinah  were  particularly  pleased. 
They  hailed  the  success  of  the  men  and  women  of 
Israel  as  the  harbinger  of  their  own.  They  had  heard, 
generally,  of  the  escape  of  their  forefathers  from  the 
house  of  bondage;  but  now,  for  the  first  time,  they 
had  heard  the  story  told  in  plain  and  simple  language, 
in  all  the  multiplicity  and  variety  of  detail,  and  it 
made  a  deep  impression  upon  their  minds.  Joe,  even, 
Was  not  an  unobservant  spectator. 

"  Mother,"  he  asked,  a  why  can  we  not  live  in  dat 
palace  mass'r  Bates  read  'bout  to-day?  " 

"  Hush  !  child,  you  know  not  what  you  say,"  she 
quickly  replied,  lest  he  might  be  overheard. 

u  Mother,  would  you  not  like  to  go  dar,  if  it  was 
only  for  a  little  while?"  said  Joe,  in  a  lower  tone. 

u  We  can  not,  my  child,  have  our  wish ;  so  speak 
no  more  on  de  subject." 

"  Joe,  how  far  do  you  s'pose  you  can  walk  in  a 
day?"  inquired  his  father. 

"  Dunno  ;  but  1  should  like  to  try." 

"  Could  you  stand  it,  an'  lay  out  o'  nights  in  the 
woods  ? " 

"  Jist  as  Moses  an'  — " 

"Aaron,  my  child,"  interposed  his  mother. 

"  Yas,  and  Aaron,  father?" 

"  Jist  as  Moses  and  Aaron." 


258  LIFE  LN  THE  SOUTH  ;    OB 

"  Why,  I  know'd  I  could.  The  Lor'  would  keep  off 
de  wild  animals  and  serpents." 

"  And  s'pose  we  had  noffin  to  eat,  an'  de  Lor'  did 
not  provide  us ;  you  would  cry  and  take  on." 

"  Not  a  bit.     Try  um,  try  um,  father." 

"And  then,  s'pose  I  ax'd  you  to  carry  sis'y,  to  spell 
ine ;  an'  kase  you  did  n't,  I  struck  you ;  then  you 
would  hollow,  and  make  de  woods  ring,  an'  de  ole 
bailiff  would  find  us,  and  drag  us  back  in  irons  to 
inassa.  I  'm  afeerd  to  trust  um,  Dinah." 

"Pshaw!  Joe  cry?  Not  a  bit.  Too  much  like  his 
daddy,  to  whimper.  I  'd  trust  the  one  as  quick  as- 1 
would  the  other.  You  know  how  self-willed  you  are. 
You  will  find  the  boy  the  same.  lie  would  fight,  if 
need  be.  Trust  him." 

"  Do  you  think  of  it,  father  ?  " 

"Of  what,  child?" 

"  Of  guine  to  dat  place  mass'r  Bates  spoke  'bout? " 

"  If  I  said  yes,  I  'm  afraid  you  would  mention  um." 

"Not  a  bit.     I  believe  it." 

"  Pooh  !  you  hab  no  cause,  my  child." 

"  I  know'd  it,  or  you  would  not  ax  me  so  many 
questions.  I  wish  we  could  go  to-morrow." 

"  To-morrow  ? " 

"  Yas,  to-morrow.  I  want  to  see  the  water  sparkling 
from  the  fountains,  an'  hear  de  music,  and  smell  de 
spices." 

"  I  do  n't  know  how  to  think  of  what  mass'r  Bates 
said,"  remarked  Dinah ;  "  I  'rn  afeerd  it  is  not  true, 
Tommy." 

"  I  believe  um  all." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  259 

"  He  speaks  that  he  can  not  know." 

"Know?  Of  course  he  knows.  He  has  been 
there,  an'  now,  like  an  angel,  he  condescends  to  come 
here  to  tell  us." 

"  What  was  dat  he  told  Gassy,  jist  afore  we  got  to 
the  lawn  of  the  house  ? " 

"  Jist  afore  he  got  to  de  lawn  of  de  house  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Can't  you  remember  um  ?  Somethin'  dat 
he  was." 

"  Oh !  now  I  remembers.  He  said  dat  he  was  a 
missionary  ! " 

"Well,  I  wish  he  would  be  a  missionary  every  Sun 
day.  The  minister  is  a  good  man  ;  but  he  can't  shine 
wid  the  missionary.  Oh  !  how  healing  his  words  were 
to  my  soul." 

"  Now,  really,  Dinah,  did  n't  he  beat  um  all  ? " 

"  Oh  !  I  could  sit  dar  till  now,  and  neber  wink'd.' 

"We  will  hear  him  agin  —  often  —  often — Dinah, 
in  the  land  of  freedom." 

"I  have  misgivings  'bout  dat;  I  had  rather  stay 
here,  and  hear  him  under  the  oaks." 

"And  neber  enjoy  happiness  in  dat  great  palace?" 

Dinah  just  then  saw  Philisee  pass  by  the  window, 
and  made  no  reply.  Uncle  Tom  took  the  hint,  and 
changed  the  conversation.  He,  nevertheless,  con 
tinued  to  think  of  the  missionary  and  the  promised 
land. 


260  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH ;    OK 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  OYEKSEER'S  COMMUNICATION  TO  THE  PLANTER. 

Mr.  Erskine  and  his  daughter  attended  public  wor 
ship  that  day,  at  Grace  church,  "Millwood.  It  was 
near  night  before  they  returned  to  the  mansion. 

After  the  planter  had  partaken  of  a  dish  of  coffee, 
he  seated  himself  upon  the  piazza,  and  was  soon  sur 
rounded  by  his  family.  Lucinda,  during  this  short 
interval,  told  Mary  all  the  particulars  about  the  meet 
ing.  Mary  thought  it  was  lucky  that  Mr.  Bates  hap 
pened  to  have  a  sermon  to  read,  and  intended  to  rally 
him  for  turning  minister,  the  first  opportunity. 

The  overseer  presently  came  up  the  lawn,  and  taking 
the  liberty  to  ascend  the  steps,  joined  the  family  circle. 
It  was  not  his  habit  to  do  so ;  and  for  this  reason,  Mr. 
Erskine  gave  him  the  more  attention. 

In  answer  to  an  inquiry  how  he  had  thus  far  passed 
the  day,  he  remarked,  that  he  went  to  the  oaks  ;  and 
informed  the  planter  of  the  accidental  absence  of  tiie 
preacher,  and  also  who  officiated  as  substitute.  Mr. 


UXCLE  TOM?8  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  261 

Erskine  expressed  his  regret,  if  any  casualty  had  be 
fallen  the  clergyman,  but  was  pleased  to  learn  that  his 
tutor  was  present;  and  was  gratified  that  he  had  the 
precaution  to  be  prepared  to  supply  the  vacant  desk. 

The  overseer  was  ignorant  of  the  precise  whereabout 
of  Mr.  Bates ;  and  as  he  did  not  wish  then  to  make 
known  to  that  gentleman  any  suspicion  which  he  en 
tertained  of  his  good  intention,  and  still  desired  to 
confer  with  the  planter  concerning  what  occurred  at 
the  meeting,  he  took  occasion  to  ask  him  to  go  down 
toward  the  river  and  look  at  the  crops.  Mr.  Erskine, 
thinking  that  the  overseer  might  have  some  fresh  ideas 
to  communicate,  had  no  hesitation  to  take  the  walk. 

We  believe  that  we  have  not  yet  mentioned  the 
name  of  this  overseer.  Call  him,  reader,  if  you  please, 
Mr.  Gravity.  The  name  certainly  is  appropriate ;  for 
he  was  very  sedate;  although,  to  his  praise  be  it  said, 
he  had  a  kind  heart,  and  a  scrupulously  honest  disposi 
tion.  If  he  ever  plied  the  lash  to  the  stubbornly 
disobedient  slave,  he  used  it,  as  nearly  as  we  can 
recollect,  precisely  as  a  father  does  in  the  wholesome 
correction  of  his  children.  He  did  not  punish  with 
wantonness.  And  as  to  the  management  of  the  large 
tract  of  land  entrusted  to  his  care,  he  would  have  the 
measure  even  full  —  no  more,  and  no  less  —  notwith 
standing  a  paltry  trader  once  offered  to  share  alike 
with  him  the  profits,  if  he  would  "heap;"  and  the 
planter,  on  the  other  hand,  years  before  the  time  we 
write  —  when  he  entertained  ideas  of  accumulating 

O 

wealth  enough  to  be  a  millionaire  —  told  him  if  he 
would  "hollow  "as  he  evened  off,  his  annual  salary 


262  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    Oli 

should  be  raised.  lie  planned,  managed,  worked  — 
just  as  if  lie  owned,  in  bis  own  right,  the  entire  plan 
tation.  He  knew  what  was  wanted  at  the  mansion, 
and  he  knew  also  what  was  needed  at  the  quarters. 
In  fact,  he  had  been  employed  in  his  present  capacity 
so  long,  that  he  would  have  felt  himself  an  outcast,  if 
he  had  been  dismissed ;  and  considered  himself  cash 
iered,  if  any  part  of  his  duties  had  been  curtailed. 
He  had  grown  to  his  situation.  He  was  part  and  par 
cel,  if  the  good-natured  critic  will  permit  us  so  to 
speak,  of  the  estate,  and  it  of  him. 

"We  said  that  the  planter  accepted  the  proposition  of 
the  overseer,  and  accompanied  him  toward  the  river. 
Mr.  Gravity  desired  to  talk  to  his  employer  about  the 
exercises  at  the  oaks  —  the  prayer,  and  particularly 
the  sermon.  From  modesty,  if  not  goodness  of  feeling 
to  the  schoolmaster  —  and  then  from  motives  of  pru 
dence,  lest  the  relations  between  Mr.  Erskine  and  Mr. 
Bates  had  become  so  intimate,  that  the  former's  judg 
ment  might  be  so  much  warped  in  favor  of  the  latter, 
as  to  be  blind  to  foibles,  however  alarming  —  the  over 
seer  hesitated  long  before  he  opened  his  budget  of 
fears,  or  even  referred  to  the  subject. 

Finally,  he  alluded  to  the  absence  of  the  preacher  — 
the  number  of  hearers  present  —  their  apparent  anxiety 
to  hear  the  sound  of  the  gospel,  and  the  alacrity  of 
the  schoolmaster  in  lending  his  services  for  their 
gratification. 

"Mr.  Bates  really  read  a  sermon,  did  he?" 

"  Yes  ;  and  it  was  quite  lengthy." 

"  On  the  usual  topic,  I  presume." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  263 

"I  think  not." 

"  Ah  !  it  was  a  discourse  on  doctrinal  points." 

"  The  doctrine  was  new  to  me." 

"Pray,  enlighten  me." 

"  Slavery  —  freedom !  " 

" Slavery  and  freedom? " 

"  Aye,  sir." 

"What  was  the  view  taken  by  the  author?" 

"  Why,  sir,  the  discourse  opened  with  a  description 
of  Egypt,  and  the  hardships  of  bondage." 

"  Doubtless  the  same  as  recorded  in  the  sacred 
writings." 

"If  so,  I  have  never  been  so  fortunate  as  to  set  my 
eyes  on  it.  What  he  read  was  new  to  me." 

"I  take  it,  there  was  no  design.  It  so  happened; 
perhaps  Mr.  Bates  thought  that  subject  would  be  the 
most  interesting  to  such  an  assembly." 

"  Of  that  I  have  no  doubt,  or  he  would  not  have 
taken  the  trouble  to  have  prepared  it  in  advance." 

"  Prepared  it  in  advance  !  Oh !  that  could  not  have 
been  so.  The  sermon,  probably,  was  compiled  many 
years  ago,  and  he  chanced  to  have  it.  Fortunate — for 
I  have  noticed  that  the  slaves  are  better  to  work  during 
the  week,  if  they  hear  the  preacher  on  Sunday." 

"It  was  not  printed,  sir." 

"  Written  on  vellum  ?  A  venerable  document,  then. 
I  must  ask  to  see  it." 

"  I  was  near  enough  to  have  a  good  view ;  it  was 
written  on  ordinary  paper,  and  looked  fresh.  I  believe 
the  composition  was  his  own,  and  prepared  for  the 


264  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"That  can  not  be  possible.  You  wrong  him;  how 
could  he  know  that  an  opportunity  would  be  offered 
to-day  to  deliver  it?  The  preacher  was  accidentally 
absent." 

"There  is  a  mystery  about  this  matter  ;  a  private  un 
derstanding,  I  suspect,  to  create  disaffection  among  ouj 
people,"  said  the  overseer,  with  more  self-possession. 

"  Why,  sir,  how  you  astonish  me !  I  repeat,  it  can 
not  be  possible." 

"  Very  well.  I  considered  it  my  duty  to  call  your 
attention  to  what  occurred.  I  hope  your  construction 
is  right." 

"  I  shall  talk  with  Mr.  Bates." 

"  And,  if  you  do,  I  predict  he  will  satisfy  you 
that  he  entertained  the  audience  from  the  best  of 
motives." 

"Prejudice!  that  is  prejudice  —  downright  preju 
dice," 

"So  let  it  be  considered.     I  hope  such  is  the  fact." 

"  Have  you  any  suggestion  to  make  ?  " 

"None." 

''  Upon  what  terms  are  you? " 

"  Friendship,  sir." 

"Do  you  often  talk  with  each  other?" 

"Frequently  —  very  frequently,  sir." 

"Perhaps,  then,  you  may  sift  this  matter  be'ter 
than  myself.  Seek  his  company,  and  learn  what  you 


"  I  will  do  so  at  the  earliest  opportunity." 
"  But  take  good  care  to  cloak  all  suspicion  of  evil 
design  on  his  part ;  for  I  would  not  needlessly  injure 


265 

his  feelings.     I  have  enjoyed   his  acquaintance  long 
enough  to  know  that  he  is  extremely  sensitive." 

The  overseer  again  signified  his  willingness  to  cate 
chise  the  schoolmaster ;  and  parting  company  with  the 
planter,  took  the  path  that  lead  toward  the  lane. 

Mn.  Erskine  made  his  way  back  to  the  piazza.  The 
overseer's  communication  annoyed  his  mind,  and  he 
was  not  as  talkative  as  usual.  Mary  noticed  her 
father's  taciturnity,  but  attributed  it  to  fatigue ;  or  per 
haps,  thought  she,  he  may  be  contemplating,  in  the 
quiet  twilight  of  eve,  those  beautiful  thoughts  of  future 
bliss  that  we  heard  to-day  at  Millwood.  She  would 
not  interrupt  him,  and  locking  her  arm  with  Fred 
erick's,  they  tripped  around  the  house,  went  into  the 
garden,  and  plucked  some  flowers. 

"How  pleased  father  is  with  our  clergyman  —  he 
read  service  and  preached  so  sweetly,"  said  Mary. 

"I  do  n't  know,"  answered  her  brother,  shaking  his 
head.  "  Pompey  gibbers  queerly  about  the  sermon  at 
the  oaks." 

"  Oh,  fie  !  that  does  not  disturb  father's  serenity. 
He  does  not  fear  the  enlightenment  of  our  slaves." 

u  There  goes  Mr.  Bates.  Let  us  sit  in  the  arbor,  and 
see  if  he  is  not  going  over  to  the  quarters." 

Mary  complied  with  her  brother's  request,  but  it 
was  already  too  dusky  to  discern  objects  distinctly  at 
a  distance. 


.<S66  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 


CHAPTEE  XYIII. 

THE  SUSPICION. 

The  next  day  was  cloudy  and  unpleasant.     A  rain 
set  in  during  the  forenoon,  and  the  slaves  did  not  work 

£3  ' 

in  the  field.  The  overseer  availed  himself  of  this 
interruption  to  inform  the  planter  of  the  interview 
with  Mr.  Bates. 

He  was  fortunate  enough  to  fall  in  company  with 
the  latter  gentleman  the  evening  before,  without  wak 
ing  him  suspect  that  it  was  intentional.  They  were 
in  the  pasture  that  lay  between  the  flower-garden  and 
the  quarters.  They  met  each  other,  going  in  an  opposite 
direction.  The  schoolmaster  was  in  a  hurry,  but  the 
overseer  continued  to  detain -him  in  conversation,  until 
he  had  asked  all  the  questions  that  his  mind  suggested. 
Mr.  Erskine  was  in  the  library  when  the  overseer 
came  into  the  house.  Without  hesitation,  Mr.  Gravity 
walked  in,  not  forgetting  to  leave -the  door  ajar,  so  that 
Lucinda,  who  was  near  by  in  the  kitchen,  might  hear 
the  conversation,  if  she  was  disposed  to  listen.  The 
planter  had  been  busily  engaged  all  the  morni&g  in 
writing,  and  did  not  appear  to  be  aware  of  the  state  of 


267 

the  weather  outside.  The  appearance  of  the  overseer 
was,  therefore,  unexpected,  and  with  a  countenance 
indicating  much  surprise,  he  inquired  if  there  was 
trouble  "  at  the  work." 

Mr.  Gravity  remarked  that  it  was  too  wet  to  con 
tinue  it  that  day  with  profit,  and  he  had  come  to  tell 
him  what  the  schoolmaster  said. 

"Very  good,"  replied  the  planter,  removing  the 
spectacles  from  his  eyes,  and  laying  them  upon  the 
desk.  "  How  did  you  find  him  ? " 

"  Shy,  sir,  very  shy." 

"The  deuce  you  did!  hey?" 

"  Very  loth  to  talk,  sir,  very." 

"Well,  did  you  learn  anything  worth  mentioning? " 

"  Enough,  sir,  to  satisfy  me  that  he  did  not  preach 
by  chance." 

"  Now,  Mr.  Gravity,  do  not  alarm  me  unnecessarily. 
Come  to  the  point,  and  mention  what  actually  trans 
pired.  Give  me  his  words,  if  you  please." 

"  You  must  know,  Mr.  Erskine,  then,  that  I  treated 
him  civilly ;  I  did  not  take  off  my  hat,  but  talked  on 
equal  footing.  After  complimenting  him  for  his 
kindness  - 

"  Pshaw  !  my  good  man ;  give  me  the  precise  lan 
guage.  It  is  important,  so  that  I  may  know  exactly 
what  to  do." 

"  Will  you  do  me  the  favor  to  loan  the  book  ?  I 
was  so  much  interested  in  your  discourse  that  I  would 
like  to  read  it,"  I  asked. 

"  With  great  pleasure  ;  but  Mr.  Rawls  is  before  you, 
and  he  has  it,"  replied  Mr.  Bates. 


208  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 


"  It  was  interesting  and  instructive.  It  must  have 
cost  you  some  pains  to  write.'1  I  added,  to  tickle  his 
vanity. 

"Easy,  Mr.  Gravity.  Did  you  not  know  it  was 
always  easy  to  tell  the  truth  ? "' 

Uncertain  whether  lit  was  not  fooling  me,  I  answered  : 
"It  was  a  little  too  smart  writing.  Mr.  Dates,  for 
you  ! "  and  he  flew  at  once  into  a  passion. 

"  Oh !  I  do  not  wish  to  offend  you,  Mr.  Bates.  I 
was  only  taking  the  liberty  of  expressing  my  opinion," 
I  immediately  added. 

"I  don't  dress  myself,  sir,  in  borrowed  plumage. 
I  wrote  it  myself,  in  yonder  chamber.  If  you  was 
pleased  with  the  ideas,  I  am  happy  so  to  bo  informed. 
I  put  them  together  as  well  as  I  knew  how,"  he  re 
plied,  with  considerable  pertness  in  his  manner. 

"To  be  frank,  I  liked  the  style  better  than  the  mat 
ter;  too  much  about  slavery  to  suit  this  climate." 

"Truth  is  truth,  and  I  maintain  it  should  always  be 
spoken." 

"  Did  yon  know  that  the  preacher  would  be  absent 
to-day?"  I  then  inquired,  for  I  felt  sure  the  answer 
would  give  me  the  key  I  was  trying  to  find.  I  did  so 
reluctantly,  though,  for  I  couldn't  but  think  he  would 
mistrust  my  object. 

"  His  reply,  Mr.  Gravity  ? "  interrupted  the  planter, 
becoming  excited,  and  impatient  to  be  apprised  of 
the  worst,  if  the  schoolmaster  intended  to  create  a 
rebellion. 

"  I  did.  He  so  informed  me  at  the  previous  meet 
ing.  Conference  is  in  session." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  269 

"  Did  he  ask  you  to  supply  his  place  ?  " 

"  Yes;  and  as  I  had  leisure,  I  wrote  the  sermon  you 
listened  to." 

"  When  Mr.  Rawls  is  tired  of  it,  I  suppose  I  may 
expect  the'  pleasure  of  reading  it  ?  " 

"  Certainly,"  he  assured  me,  and  we  parted.  There, 
sir,  you  have  the  interview,  word  for  word,  as  nearly 
as  my  recollection  will  enable  me  to  give  it. 

"  Very  well.  Now,  what  conclusion  did  you  come 
to  ?  "  asked  the  planter. " 

"That  Mr.  Bates  means  no  good.  He  is  what  I 
call  a  rogue,  in  common  parlance." 

"  Does  he  mean  rebellion,  d'  ye  think? " 

"  He  means  to  excite  insurrection  among  our  people." 

"  If  so,  the  bottomless  pit  is  too  good  for  him !  "  re 
plied  the  planter,  swelling  with  rage. 

"  Have  you  any  commands?  " 

"  Not  at  present ;  I  will  inquire  further.  "  It  is  a 
boyish  trick  ;  I  can  not  believe  that  it  is  serious." 

The  overseer  left  the  library,  and  Mr.  Erskine  re 
sumed  his  writing.  It  was  with  difficulty,  however, 
that  he  could  content  himself  long  enough  to  finish  the 
letter,  which  he  was  anxious  should  go  by  the  next 
post  to  his  factor  at  Richmond.  He  determined  to  be 
plain  with  Mr.  Bates,  as  soon  as  school  was  over,  and 
let  him  know  that  he  could  not  violate  law  with  impu 
nity.  He  believed  this  to  be  his  duty.  And  yet,  he 
did  not  wish  to  injure  the  schoolmaster's  feelings  with 
false  imputation  or  idle  clamor.  He  could  not  perceive 
the  motive  to  do  so  great  an  injury,  and  perhaps  the" 

foolish  man  did  not  reflect  upon  the  effect  which  a 
12 


270  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

promulgation  of  such  sentiments  might  have  upon  the 
blacks. 

He  finished  the  letter — folded  and  superscribed 
it — and  stepped  to  the  door  to  call  Pompey  to  carry 
it  to  the  postmaster.  As  he  opened  the  door,  whom 
should  he  meet,  but  Gassy,  in  tears,  and  begging  the 
privilege  to  tell  massa  her  secret.  He  directed  the 
wretched  negress  to  go  into  the  library,  and  remain 
there  until  he  returned.  Although  the  master  was  in 
bad  humor,  and  answered  petulantly,  his  order  sounded 
pleasantly  upon  Casey's  ears,  for  her  heart  was  almost 
ready  to  burst  with  grief. 

"  ISTow,  Gassy,  be  quick,  and  tell  me  what  brings 
you  here.  I  can  not  wait  for  a  long  story,"  said 
Mr.  Erskine,  as  he  returned  to  his  chair  by  the  desk. 

"  Mass'r  Bates,  he  — " 

"  Mr.  Bates  !  what  do  you  know  of  that  gentleman  ?  " 

"  Why,  massa,  he  has  been  gallant  wid  me,  an  — 

"  Well,  out  with  it.  I  am  prepared  to  hear  that  he 
is  a  perfect  devil!  "  said  the  planter,  the  real  character 
of  the  schoolmaster  nowr  flashing  upon  his  mind,  and  sat 
isfied  that  he  had  not  done  him  injustice  in  attributing 
bad  motives  to  his  efforts  in  the  pulpit.  "  Out  with  it." 

"  Why,  massa,  he  threatened  me  with  eternal  tor 
ment,  if  I  did  not  pack  up  my  duds,  and  go  North 
wid  him ! " 

"And  leave  Jeff  forever  ?" 

"  Da  's  it." 

"  When  did  he  make  this  hellish  threat,  Gassy  ?  " 

"  Last  night,  arter  all  war  abed.  He  coaxed  me  to 
go  ober  de  hill !  " 


271, 

"Vile  creature!  I  will  call  him  to  account.  No, 
that  will  not  do:  such  a  being  has  not  the  manly 
courage  to  face  death ;  he  would  resort  to  some 
subterfuge  to  gain  time,  and,  meanwhile,  sneak  off! 
Besides,  he  is  no  gentleman!  I  will  treat  him  accord 
ingly,"  soliloquized  Mr.  Erskine,  as  he  rapidly  paced 
the  room.  Suddenly  recollecting  himself,  he  turned 
to  Gassy,  and  mildly  said,  "  Go,  my  honest  woman,  to 
your  quarters,  and  keep  your  own  counsel.  I  have 
always  been  a  lather  to  you ;  I  will  protect  you  now. 
So,  hush !  dry  up  your  tears  ;  and  if  the  scamp  again 
approaches  you,  slap  him  in  the  face  —  he  is  too  white- 
livered  to  resent  the  insult." 

"  Yas,  massa,  I  thank 'e,"  said  the  slave,  and  made 
a  handsome  curtsey.  She  left  the  library,  relieved  of 
much  of  her  sorrow  and  anxiety.  If  her  heart  could 
have  spoken,  it  would  have  uttered  thanks  upon 
thanks.  The  soothing  words  of  the  planter  poured  the 
balm  of  consolation  upon  its  many  bleeding  wounds; 
and  the  honest-minded  woman,  as  she  tripped  over  the 
pasture,  carried  her  head  higher,  \valked  more  erect, 
and  could  look  whoever  she  might  meet  more  fully  in 
the  face  than  at  any  time  during  the  past  four  months. 
She  felt  as  if  she  had  shaken  off  something  which  was 
withering  to  the  touch,  and  nefarious  to  the  soul  !  She 
felt  regenerated  —  she  was  disenthralled!  She  was 
herself  again  —  pardoned  by  her  master  —  at  peace 
with  her  husband  —  and  there  we  leave  her,  forever. 

Mr.  Erskine's  torment  of  mind,  on  the  contrary,  had 
just  commenced.  For  thirty  years  he  had  worked  his 
plantation  in  quiet — that  otiurn  cum  dignitate,  pleasing 


LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

to  the  recipient,  and  wholesome,  in  its  moral  influ 
ence,  to  the  community.  He  never  had  borrowed 
trouble  from  intestine  broils,  until  a  short  time  back ; 
and  his  agreeable  journey  to  the  federal  capital  re 
lieved  him  of  all  apprehension.  And  now,  to  think 
that  he  had  voluntarily  taken  the  viper  into  his  own 
bosom,  and  warmed  it  into  life,  and  nourished  it  into 
manhood,  for  the  express  purpose,  as  it  would  seem, 
of  stinging  its  benefactor !  he  could  scarcely  contain 
himself  even  to  think  of  it.  The  idea  was  horrible  — 
the  purpose  most  unnatural  —  the  being  that  could, 
under  those  circumstances,  harbor  such  a  disposition, 
must  be  a  monster!  He  bolted  the  door,  shut  himself 
up  in  his  library — resolved  to  review  in  his  mind,  un 
disturbed,  what  the  tutor  may  have  said  and  done. 
He  collected  together  the  entire  conduct  of  Mr.  Bates, 
and  viewed  it  as  a  whole.  He  pondered  upon  it  — 
thought  it  over  and  over,  again  and  again  ;  but  there 
it  was — foul  and  black  !  He  called  in  charity  —  that 
angelic  virtue,  which  covereth  a  multitude  of  sins  — 
and  it  remained  unchanged.  There  was  but  one  alterna 
tive,  if  he  would  avert  the  consequences.  The  hydra 
must  be  strangled!  This  conclusion  reached,  and  he 
felt  and  knew  he  had  no  time  to  lose.  He  at  once  sent 
for  the  faithful  overseer,  and  communicated  his  suspi 
cion.  The  time  had  arrived  for  promptitude  and 
decision.  He  directed  the  overseer  to  watch  every 
action  of  the  schoolmaster,  and  note  every  word  lie 
littered,  and  to  report,  from  time  to  time,  at  the  li 
brary.  This  order  was  gladly  received,  and  obedience 
promised. 


27; 


CHAPTEK  XIX. 

SCHOOLMASTER'S  UNEASINESS  AND  DEPARTURE. 

Mr.  Bates  was  not  at  the  dinner-table.  He  met 
Jeff,  as  he  was  returning  from  the  lane,  who  informed 
him  there  was  trouble.  Instead  of  going  directly  to 
the  mansion,  he  turned  his  course  toward  the  river, 
ostensibly  for  the  purpose  of  playing  the  angler,  but 
in  fact  to  avoid  Mr.  Erskine.  When  near  the  middle 
of  the  meadow,  he  observed  the  overseer  behind,  and 
coming  in  the  same  direction.  He  had  no  reason  to 
suppose  the  latter  on  his  track,  and  probably  would 
not  have  entertained  the  thought,  if  he  was  not  con 
scious  that  he  had  done  wrong.  He  hurried  his  step. 
It  made  no  difference,  however;  the  overseer  main 
tained  his  distance.  This  increased  the  uneasiness. 

What  was  to  be  done,  but  to  bait  the  hook  and  angle 
for  fish,  and  then  go  to  his  study,  as  if  he  had  nothing 
in  particular  to  think  of.  By  so  doing,  he  would  gain 
time  for  reflection,  and  the  better  determine  subsequent 
conduct.  He  adopted  this  suggestion,  and  treating  Mr. 


274  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

Gravity  cavalierly,  when  he  came  up,  loitered  awhile 
on  the  bank  of  the  stream,  arid  then  leisurely  retraced 
his  steps  to  the  road,  and  went  up  to  the  house. 

It  was  now  near  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  The 
rain  stopped  sometime  before,  and  the  sun  shone  in 
unclouded  splendor.  He  looked  out  of  the  chamber 
window,  and  gazed  upon  the  sparkling  waters  of  the 
Shenandoah,  as  they  meandered  through  the  fields 
and  meadows.  There  was  the  same  fertile  and  lovely 
valley  ;  and  high  above  all  these  towered  the  same 
high  hills  and  lofty  mountain  ranges,  covered  with  the 
same  thick  woods  and  extensive  forests ;  and  they 
looked  as  inviting  and  magnificent  as  when  his  eyes 
first  fell  upon  them.  He  could  not  bear  to  think  that 
he  must  so  quickly  abandon  the  enjoyment  of  such 
scenery,  and  leave  the  country.  He  would  rather 
remain  in  this  little  paradise,  and  continue  to  partake 
of  the  hospitality  of  the  planter.  But,  to  gratify  the 
wish  was  out  of  the  question;  there  was  a  mighty 
moral  principle  at  stake  ;  and  acting  in  obedience  to 
the  impulses  of  an  enlarged  philanthropy,  he  must 
perform  his  duty.  If  he  had  sown  the  whirlwind,  he 
was  content  to  reap  the  storm.  His  zeal  in  the  cause 
was  not  ephemeral,  and  he  should  "  stand  the  hazard 
of  the  die."  He  was  not  quite  sure,  however,  that 
Mr.  Erskine  penetrated  his  design.  He  would  act 
prudently,  and  "  bide  his  time." 

Several  days  elapsed,  and  the  interval  employed  by 
the  respective  parties  in  reconnoitering.  The  one 
endeavoring  to  ascertain  what  might  be  afoot,  and  the 
other  to  escape  detection.  The  schoolmaster  wns 


U2s<JLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  18.  275 

irregular  in  his  attendance  at  the  dining-room,  and 
anything  but  communicative  when  present.  If  any  of 
the  family  mentioned  his  loss  of  appetite,  the  disin 
clination  to  eat  was  attributed  to  heat  and  lassitude. 
If  absence  from  the  mansion,  more  than  usual,  was 
referred  to,  a  desire  to  wander  alone,  and  contemplate 
in  solitude,  furnished  the  reply. 

Meanwhile,  the  overseer  did  not  remain  idle.  He 
"laid  in"  with  Jeff  to  watch  Uncle  Tom's  motions; 
and  the  dutiful  negro  was  an  almost  constant  visitor  at 
the  cabin.  Mr.  Gravity  had  suddenly  become  enam 
ored  of  solitude,  also,  and  gratified  this  desire  as  lib 
erally  as  the  schoolmaster.  If  the  one  roamed  over  to 
the  quarters,  or  into  the  lane,  or  across  the  river,  or 
among  the  hills,  or  up  and  down  the  highway,  the 
other  invariably  did  the  same.  Mature,  all  at  once, 
had  become  wonderfully  entertaining  to  Mr.  Gravity, 
and  on  no  account  could  he  persuade  himself  to  relin 
quish  the  pleasure.  Neither  could  he  sleep  as  long,  or 
consent  to  be  shut  up  the  whole  night  in  a  narrow, 
contracted  bedroom.  He  preferred  a  broader  canopy, 
and  hence  was  out,  frequently,  long  after  dusk ;  espe 
cially,  if  Mr.  Bates  was  not  in  the  house.  This  coin 
cidence  of  thought,  inclination,  and  action,  might  seem 
queer  to  a  stranger  on  the  plantation ;  but  to  those 
who  were  conversant  with  "the  state  of  affairs,"  such 
conduct,  probably,  would  be  deemed  in  admirable 
keeping  with  the  duty  which  Mr.  Gravity  was  attempt 
ing  to  perform.  Be  this  as  it  may,  he  meant  that  the 
school  master  should  not  be  out  of  his  sight,  when  away 
from  the  chamber. 


276  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OK 

Mr.  Bates  was  exceedingly  annoyed  by  the  constant 
presence  of  the  overseer.  He  finally  became  satisfied 
it  was  useless  to  attempt  an  insurrection  among  the 
slaves.  The  urbanity  of  the  planter  had  changed  into 
coldness  ;  his  intercourse  with  the  family  was  fast 
becoming  disagreeable  ;  and  guilty  in  thought,  if  not 
in  deed,  and  fearful  of  condign  punishment,  he  wished 
himself  safely  in  some  other  climate.  The  agreement 
to  teach  run  for  a  year,  and  more  than  a  moiety  of  the 
time  was  yet  to  elapse.  Besides,  he  foolishly  inti 
mated,  at  the  outset,  that  he  should  not  wish  to  receive 
his  salary  piecemeal.  If  he  now  asked  for  the  money, 
it  would  create  distrust,  and  his  motive  would  be  sus 
pected.  He  must  embrace  some  scheme  to  extricate 
himself  from  this  unpleasant  dilemma. 

Mr.  Erskine  now  passed  the  greater  portion  of  the 
time  in  his  library.  One  morning,  Mr.  Gravity  came 
running  in,  and  handed  him  a  letter. 

"  There,  sir,  have  the  goodness  to  look  at  that  docu 
ment,"  said  he,  almost  out  of  breath. 

"  What  have  you  here  ?  "  asked  the  planter,  unfold 
ing  it. 

"Please  open,  and  see  for  yourself." 

It  read  as  follows  : 


SON,  —  It  is  my  painful  duty  to  inform  you, 
that  death  has  entered  our  house.  After  a  short  but 
distressing  illness,  your  father  departed  this  life,  on 
Sunday  night.  He  died  in  peace  with  man,  and  with 
perfect  confidence  in  God,  and  an  unclouded  hope  of 
eternal  salvation.  His  last  request  was,  that  you 


277 

should  immediately  return  home.  Although  he  left 
only  small  worldly  possessions,  the  greater  care  is 
needed.  You  know  I  am  too  old  to  do  much,  and 
your  sisters  rely  upon  their  only  brother  to  look  after 
their  rights.  Do  not  fail,  then,  to  come  forward 
immediately. 

"  I  have  no  time  to  write  more ;  and  I  hope  that  it 
is  not  necessary.  Be  sure  and  come,  for  we  all  mourn 
deeply  our  loss,  and  feel  very  lonely  and  sad. 

"  We  should  have  written  you  before ;  but  we  had 
hopes  of  your  father  until  it  was  too  late.  Bless  his 
good  soul !  I  hope  it  is  in  heaven,  where  we  all  pray 
finally  to  go.  Write  me  by  return  mail  when  we  may 
expect  to  see  you.  Sisters  send  their  warmest  love. 
Written  in  haste.  Yours  affectionately, 

POLLY  BATES." 

" There  is  no  date  —  ah!  postmarked  Benson.  The 
abbreviation  for  state  is  too  obscure  to  make  out  — 
August  8,  and  addressed  to  Henry  Bates.  Good !  I 
suspect  it  belongs  to  the  schoolmaster ;  dropped  it 
accidentally,  I  presume.  We  shall  now  get  rid  of 
him,  I  do  believe.  Well,  take  it  to  him,  and  see  what 
he  says.'1 

Mr.  Gravity  was  equally  pleased  with  Mr.  Erskine, 
to  think  that  the  plantation  would  soon  be  rid  of  its 
worst  enemy,  and  he  hurried  to  find  the  owner  of  the 
letter.  Luckily,  the  schoolmaster  happened  then  to  be 
in  his  study,  and  the  overseer  soon  found  him. 

"  Pompey  picked  up  this  in  the  fruit  orchard :  per 
haps  you  are  the  owner? "  he  said,  holding  up  the  letter. 


278  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"Why,  how  came  you  by.  that,  sir?  The  post 
brought  it  yesterday,  and  I  must  have  mislaid  it  in  the 
arbor,  where  I  was  crying  over  its  contents." 

"  Very  likely,  sir.     Melancholy  news  ! " 

"  Oh  !  yes,  Mr.  Gravity,  very  painful.  I  scarcely 
slept  last  night,  it  troubled  me  so." 

"  That 's  a  whopper  of  a  lie !  for  you  was  at  the 
cabin,  to  my  certain  knowledge,"  said  the  overseer  to 
himself. 

"  I  hardly  know  what  course  to  pursue.  Perhaps 
you  will  be  so  kind  as  to  advise  me,  Mr.  Gravity? " 

"  With  all  my  heart.     Follow  me." 

The  schoolmaster  could  do  no  less  than  obey  the 
command.  He  did  it,  reluctantly,  though,  for  the 
overseer  was  so  abrupt,  that  he  could  not  conjecture 
whither  he  was  to  be  conducted,  nor  what  might  be  the 
motive.  In  a  moment,  however,  he  discovered  that  he 
must  face  the  planter.  This  was  decidedly  more  pain 
ful  than  the  intelligence  contained  in  the  letter. 

"  Mr.  Bates  desires  to  advise  about  going  Xorth," 
remarked  the  overseer  to  the  planter,  as  he  showed  the 
schoolmaster  into  the  library. 

"  Ah  !  I  am  at  your  service,  sir,"  immediately  said 
Mr.  Erskine. 

"  I  do  not  know  whether  you  are  aware  that  I  have  re 
ceived  a  letter,  informing  me  of  the  death  of  my  father? " 

"  I  read  it,  sir,  through  inadvertence.  You  will 
excuse  the  impudence.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  happy  to  comply  with  my  mother's 
earnest  request,  if  yuu  would  let  me  off,  sir,  from  my 


agreement.' 


U.NCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  279 

"  By  all  means,  sir ;  I  should  be  a  monster  to  de 
cline.  When  do  you  propose  to  start?" 

"  I  would  like  to  go  to-morrow — or  the  day  after,  at 
furthest, —  if  convenient  to  you,  I  prefer  to-morrow." 

"You  shall  go  to-morrow,  sir,"  said  the  planter. 
"If  you  don't,  blast  me !  "  he  muttered  to  himself. 

"I  will  be  obliged  to  trouble  you  to  send  Pompey 
with  me  to  Millwood." 

"  Oh  !  with  pleasure,  sir.  You  can  get  yourself 
ready,  and  we  will  give  you  an  early  start.  There  is 
your  salary,"  replied  Mr.  Erskine,  at  the  same  time 
giving  the  schoolmaster  his  money. 

Mr.  Bates  retired  to  his  chamber  to  pack  up.  His 
scheme  to  get  away  worked  admirably.  The  letter 
was  an  excellent  hoax,  and  accomplished  precisely 
what  he  desired.  He  was  in  high  glee  with  himself 
throughout  the  day. 

"Mr.  Gravity,"  said  the  planter,  after  the  school 
master  had  gone  out  of  the  library,  "  have  an  eye  on 
the  scamp  to-night.  You  will  go  yourself  in  the  morn 
ing.  Be  off  early  :  and  mark  you,  do  n't  leave  him 
until  you  get  to  Winchester;  Millwood  is  too  near." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  trust'me  for  that." 

"  And  d'ye  hear?  See  that  he  is  booked  for  Phila 
delphia,  and  fare  paid. " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And,  Mr.  Gravity,  see  him  driven  off  in  the  stage, 
bag  and  baggage." 

"  "Rely  on  that,  sir." 

"A good  riddance,  and  cheap  at  that! "  exclaimed  the 
planter,  who  was  also  in  high  glee  throughout  the  day. 


280  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH      OR 


CHAPTER    XX. 

UNCLE  TOM^  NOTIONS  OF  FREEDOM. 

"Unchanged  within  to  see  all  changed  without, 
Is  a  blank  lot,  and  hard  to  bear,  no  doubt." 

Nearly  a  month  after  the  occurrences  mentioned  in 
the  preceding  chapter,  Uncle  Tom  was  strolling  one 
evening  in  the  lane.  It  was  the  season  of  full  moon, 
in  the  latter  part  of  September.  Darkness  did  not 
seem  to  follow  the  day,  it  wras  so  light.  The  enervat 
ing,  sultry,  scorching  heat  of  the  summer  months  had 
passed  away.  A  soft,  mild,  gentle  breeze,  fanned  the 
valley ;  and  after  the  hours  of  labor,  it  was  more 
invigorating  to  sit  upon  the  fence,  or  loiter  upon  the 
field,  and  inhale  the  fresh  and  bracing  air,  than  to 
seek  rest  in  bed,  and  breathe  the  close,  warm,  and 
fetid  atmosphere  of  the  house  or  cabin.  He  sat  down 
upon  a  large  stone  by  the  margin  of  the  brook  oppo 
site  the  hovel. 

In  this  humble  tenement,  the  slave  was  imprisoned : 
here  the  schoolmaster  taught  the  children  how  to  read 


281 

and  spell ;  and  here  he  met  his  brother  slaves,  to  coun 
sel  together,  and  plan  rebellion !  Their  great  adviser 
and  good  friend  was  gone.  No  more  did  they  see  his 
pleasant  smile,  or  listen  to  his  kind  and  cheering  words. 
'No  longer  did  the  little  boys  and  girls  hie  to  school  in 
the  morning,  and  at  night  prattle  about  the  incidents 
of  the  school-room.  The  door  of  the  hovel  was  wide 
open  ;  the  benches  were  turned  upside  down,  the  table 
had  lost  one  of  its  legs  and  tumbled  upon  the  floor, — • 
even  the  master's  chair  did  not  maintain  an  upright 
position  ;  the  weeds  were  fast  acquiring  possession  of 
the  step  below  the  sill ;  thistles  were  striving  to  block 
ade  the  entrance,  and  the  cricket  was  chaunting  its, 
lonesome  requiem  ! 

The  view  was  too  much  for  Uncle  Tom  —  it  looked 
too  desolate  and  lonely  —  and  he  rose  up  to  go  away. 

"  Da  's  it !"  shouted  Cessar,  near  by,  on  his  return 
from  the  river.  Uncle  Tom  felt  ashamed  that  he  was 
observed,  and  would  fain  get  out  of  sight  and  hearing : 
he  paid  no  attention  to  the  salutation.  "  Lor'!  wha'  you 
'bout?  afeerd  of  dis  nigger  in  de  night,  am  you?  Oh, 
ho  !  hold  your  feet  till  I  cotch  you,"  again  shouted 
Caesar,  and  ran  to  overtake  him. 

"It's  no  use;  I  will  stand  and  endure  um,"  said 
Uncle  Tom  to  himself,  and  again  sat  down  upon  the 
stone. 

"  Musing,  Tom  ? "  asked  Caesar  as  he  came  up. 

"  I  s'pose  you  would  call  um  dat,"  gruffly  uttered, 
was  the  reply. 

"  Dat  disease  will  be  the  death  of  you,  I  s'pects." 

"  Pooh!  dunno,  nigger  what  yer  talking'  bout." 


282  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH;  OK 

"Den  enlighten  me.  Da's  de  reason,  kase  I  ax'd 
you,  Tom." 

"Do  you  really  wish  me  to  speak  to  you,  Caesar?'' 

"  Yas,  spoke  um,  ole  man." 

"Shall  I  be  respected  2 " 

"  Dunno  de  meanin';  talk  nat'ral ;  gib  um  in  plain 
language,"  said  Caesar,  knitting  his  eyebrows  and  rub 
bing  his  forehead. 

"  Know,  den,  nigger,  dat  I  was  thinking  of  Kanon. 
iSTow  do  n't  ax  me  agin.  It  does  no  good  to  preach  to 
you:  you  are  hard-hearted  —  berry  hard-hearted." 

u  Did  you  speak  of  dat  Kanon  mass'r  Bates  was 
talkin'  of  in  meetin'  ? " 

"  De  same." 

"  Lubly  place,  d  'ye  reckon,  Tom  ? " 

"  Xoffin  like  um  under  de  sun." 

"I  don't  know  bout  dat:  smart  place  to  beat  our 
ole  valley,  I  can  tell  ye." 

"  Pshaw  !  you  do  not  appreciate.  I  know'd  so  afore 
I  spoke.  I  waste  my  breath." 

"Prehaps,  now,  you  think  1  can  be  fooled  ;  do  n'c 
flatter  yourself  with  sich  nonsense,  Tom." 

"Xow,  stop  right  dar,  nigger!  Too  familiar;  TOM 
us'd  to  speak  more  respectibly.  "Why  do  n't  you 
address  me  by  my  title?" 

"  Title  !     You  hab  dis  critter  now  ;  I  gib  urn  up." 

"Why  don't  you  call  me  Uncle  Tom — Unde 
Tom?" 

"  O  ho!  dat's  de  question,  hey?  " 

"  Yas." 

"  You  lost  it  in  that  ole  cabin,  dar  ;  d'  ye  seed  um  ( '' 


283 

The  punished  slave  bit  his  nether  lip  so  hard  that  it 
bled,  and  stood  up.  He  drew  up  his  arms  as  if  he 
was  upon  the  point  of  dealing  a  blow  upon  Caesar's 
head.  He  doubled  his  fists,  and  shook  them  at  his 
comrade. 

"  Repeat  that  agin,  an'  I  will  be  the  death  o'ye!" 
he  exclaimed,  in  a  voice  so  loud  that  it  echoed  back, 
in  the  stillness  of  the  evening,  from  the  distant 
"  elms." 

"  How  awful  that  sounds  ! "  said  Caesar,  as  the  .echo 
died  upon  the  ear. 

"You  should  not  insult  me,  then.  I  will  not  be 
trifled  with  by  color'd  people :  bad  enough  to  be 
treated  contemptuously  by  the  white." 

"  You  put  on  too  big  airs  for  ole  Yirginny.  "When 
you  git  to  dat  palace  mass'r  Bates  preached  'bout,  I 
'spose  you  can  be  king  yourself?" 

"  Oh  !  if  I  only  had  some  guide  to  lead  me  through 
de  wilderness!"  exclaimed  the  slave — his  bosom 
heaving  with  a  sigh. 

"  Wha' !  wha'  <T  ye  say  ?     Run  off—  run  away  ? " 

Uncle  Tom  was  hardly  conscious  of  what  he  was 
saying,  but  too  proud  to  recall  the  remark,  he  replied, 
with  more  fierceness  in  his  looks  than  when  he  doubled 
his  fists, 

"Mention  —  lisp  to  a  mortal  ear  what  I  uttered,  an' 
I  '11  stop  the  breath  as  it  comes  up  in  your  throat ! " 

"  If  you  go,  you  would  never  come  back  agin  ;  do 
you  understand  dat  2" 

"  Pooh  !  I  never  should  wish  so." 

"  It  would  be  of  no  use,  if  you  did." 


234:  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

"I  should  know  de  way,  an'  could  travel  it  at  my 
will." 

"  De  law  will  neber  allow  runaway  slaves  to  return ; 
so  if  you  leave  Dinah,  it  is  forever  ! " 

"  Nonsense,  nigger  ;  who  fool'd  you  dis  time  ? " 

"  Nobody  you  '11  find.  De  oberseer  mentioned  dis 
fact." 

"  He  spoke  um  to  scare  you ;  mind  you,  now,  if  1 
am  not  right,  Csesar." 

"O,  de  Judge  neber  lies.  Massa  would  attend  to 
him,  if  he  did  not  tell  his  people  the  truth*." 

"  Well,  I  never  should  want  to  come  back." 

"  Not  eben  to  see  Dinah  an'  children?  What  a  hard 
heart  you  hab  come  to !  " 

"  Now  cry  !  do  act  foolish  jist  for  once  in  your  life. 
I  ask  you,  in  all  soberness,  if  I  can  not,  upon  a  pinch, 
take  my  children  an'  my  own  dear  wife  along  wid 
me?"  " 

Caesar  made  no  answer,  and  seemed  to  gaze  intently 
upon  the  heavens.  Uncle  Torn  perceived  it,  and  mar 
veled  what  attracted  his  attention. 

"Do  you  s'pose  de  same  star  shines  upon  Kanon? " 

"Mass'r  Bates  did  not  say,  Caesar." 

"  Is  dat  your  answer  ?  " 

a  Yas,  nigger,  no  oder.     What  do  you  see  ?  " 

"Den  I  advise  you  to  git  sensible  agin,  afore  you 
talk  of  Kanon ;  dat 's  all  I  hab  to  mention." 

"  Why,  man,  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"Dat  you  should  hear  Joe  read  de  Bible  —  God's 
book  —  afore  you  trust  to  the  sayings  of  man." 

"I's  ignorant  of  de  point,  Caesar;  explain  um." 


285 

"  Why,  you  ignorant  ole  nigger !  does  not  dat  big 
book  say  there  is  but  one  moon,  an'  dar  she  am?  Oh, 
how  bright !  jist  like  de  shiny  silver  dollar  I  seed 
rnassa  put  into  Dinah's  hand  dis  morning?  " 

"Dinah,  d'ye  mention!"  quickly  ejaculated  Uncle 
Tom,  and  throwing  his  body  into  a  most  startling 
attitude. 

"  Why  not  Dinah  ?  you  know  dat  am  not  de  first 
time  sich  circumstance  occurred,"  replied  Csesar, 
almost  equally  surprised  that  his  simple  words  should 
so  affect  Uncle  Tom.  The  latter  thought  for  a  moment, 
and  in  a  rnild  tone,  smilingly  said : 

"  Proceed,  Caesar.  I  was  waitin'  to  hear  you  preach  !" 

"  I  do  n't  take  my  text  from  man's  lips,  if  I  do 
preach,"  remarked  Caesar,  inclined  to  be  angry  at 
Uncle  Tom's  pleasantry. 

"  Now  you  are  angry! '  Pshaw !  keep  your  temper," 
said  he,  in  a  sarcastic  tone  of  voice. 

"  Cut  deep,  cut  deep !  draw  no  white  man's  razor 
ober  my  throat,"  said  Csesar,  the  remark  having  a  dif 
ferent  effect  from  what  was  intended. 

"I  neber  shall  hear  your  sermon  —  neber — if  you 
hobble  in  dis  manner." 

"Perhaps,  now,  you  ole  sinner,  you  spose  dat  you 
ar'  to  hear  talkin'  from  dis  nigger.  Mistaking  mis- 
takin',  Torn;  but  if  you  will  hear  me  in  de  right 
spirit,  I  will  proceed." 

"  You  know'd,  Cresar,  dat  I  was  alwars  glad  to  hear 
you  talk.  My  ears  flop  in  your  favor,"  replied  Uncle 
Tom,  beginning  to  be  anxious  to  know  what  Csesar 
would  say. 


286  LIFE  IN  THE  SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  When  I  left  off  I  was  talkin'  of  de  silvery  moon." 

"Yas." 

"Well,  den;  dat  high  moon,  so  many  millions  an' 
millions  of  miles  'bove  our  heads,  that  encompasses 
the  biff  throne  of  de  Lor'  wid  its  immense  radiance  — 

ZD 

dat  same  high  moon  shines  on  Kanon  an'  dis  lubly  of 
all  de  valleys  in  heaven  an'  earth  —  de  valley  for  me." 

"  'Zactly  so,  Coesar.  But  de  argument  —  de  argu 
ment;  dat 's  what  dis  ole  nigger  would  like;  gib  uni."' 

"  Do  you  s'pose  you  would  see  nm  in  dat  palace  in 
Ivanon,  where  de  mighty  tall  candlesticks  gib  so  re- 
splendently  their  light,  wid  de  gold  an'  de  silver  upon 
door  panels,  an'  on  brazen  images  of  all  de  saints, 
reflecting  light  so  dazzling  that  your  berry  eyes  would 
shut?  Pooh!  you  might  as  well  as  hab  no  moon." 

"Berry  good.     Dat  don't  argue  aginst  freedom!" 

"But  whar  would  be  Dinah  ?" 

"Dunno." 

"  Lookin'  at  de  moon.  An',  if  you  was  out  of  de 
palace,  on  de  plantation,  or  any  whar  else  in  a  land 
proper  for  you,  living  jist  as  you  do  now%  or  as  Abe, 
de  hostler,  at  Winchester  —  you  would  meet  Dinah's 
eyes,  an'  Joe's  eyes,  an'  your  children's  eyes,  'way 
up  in  de  moon  dar,  jist  as  you  do  now.  Do  irt  you 
seed  urn  ? " 

"  No,  you  fool !  " 

"You  don't,  hey?" 

"  Do  you  ? " 

"  Out  of  your  right  mind,  jist  as  I  s'posed.  Of 
course  I  do  not.  Dis  nigger  am  no  gallant.  Do  n't 
vou  seed  somethin'  dat  looks  like  a  human  face?  " 


287 

"Yas" 

"  Dat  's  Dinah,  wonderin'  why  you  make  so  big  fool 
of  yourself  as  to  think  of  Kanon." 

Uncle  Tom  was  not  pleased  with  Caesar's  disquisi 
tion  upon  astronomy  It  was  too  personal.  He  de 
spaired  of  converting  the  stubborn  skeptic,  and  his 
notions  of  freedom  were  so  little  appreciated  by  his 
fellow  slaves,  that  he  began  to  doubt  himself.  Not 
desirous  of  prolonging  the  present  conversation,  he 
moved  up  the  lane,  and  soon  entered  the  cabin. 

Since  the  departure  of  the  schoolmaster,  Dinah  had 
lost  all  desire  to  go  to  the  free  states.  They  could  not 
go  without  a  guide,  and  there  was  no  one  to  perform 
that  office.  Besides,  Mr.  Bates  left  so  suddenly — • 
without  even  bidding  them  "good-bye" — her  confi 
dence  in  his  integrity  was  impaired,  and  she  believed 
the  land  of  happiness  he  pictured  in  such  fascinating 
colors,  to  be  a  humbug.  Contented  as  she  was,  she 
did  not  wish  to  change  her  quarters.  All  the  trouble 
of  leaving,  and  the  incidental  preparations,  had  once 
been  encountered,  and  without  success.  She  experi 
enced  the  mortification  of  returning  from  Winchester, 
and  abandoning  the  journey  to  the  North ;  and  all  on 
account  of  the  faithlessness  of  the  schoolmaster,  as  she 
believed.  They  managed  to  avoid  being  seen  by  Mr. 
Erskine,  or  the  overseer,  and  their  intended  flight  re 
mained  a  secret  on  the  plantation.  She  vowed  in  her 
heart  not  to  be  caught  in  that  plight  again. 

Not  so  with  her  husband.  Two  failures  in  succes 
sion,  to  carry  out  his  plan  of  escape,  neither  discour 
aged  or  intimidated  the  disposition  to  change  his 


288  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

residence.  He  was  full  of  expedients,  and  had  a  i 
unchangeable  will.  His  aversion  to  labor  increased; 
his  love  for  the  master  was  daily  growing  less.  Later 
at  work  in  the  morning,  he  was  earlier  at  the  cabin 
in  the  evening.  Destitute  of  ambition  to  see  the  crops 
well  garnered,  and  losing  all  interest  in  the  prosperity 
of  his  owner,  he  was  lazy  during  the  day,  and  would 
slight  his  duty,  if  possible.  He  watched  the  eyes  of 
the  overseer  with  great  assiduity,  appearing  to  be  more 
interested  in  their  movements  than  in  executing  the 
task  imposed  upon  him,  however  light  or  inconsider 
able  it  might  be.  He  availed  himself  of  the  slightest 
jar,  to  stir  up  ill  feelings,  and  engender  discontent,  If 
the  overseer  spoke  harshly,  or  looked  cross,  the  circum 
stance  was  magnified,  until  such  efforts  became  so 
abundant,  and  frequently  so  inopportune,  that  the 
effect  was  contrary  to  what  was  intended,  and  Uncle 
Tom's  companions  were  disposed  to  jeer  and  ridicule 
his  sayings — so  wisely  uttered,  in  his  own  judgment — 
and  to  treat  him  with  indifference  and  contempt. 

These  efforts  to  distract,  and  create  mischief  and 
discontent,  were  noticed  by  the  overseer,  and  brought 
to  the  attention  of  the  master.  The  slave  was  put 
under  a  stricter  regimen,  and  his  movements  more 

O 

closely  observed.  Dinah  was  aware  of  all  this,  and 
oftentimes,  in  the  absence  of  her  husband,  was  sorely 
grieved  in  spirit  at  his  waywardness.  But  what  could 
she  do?  If  an  abundance  of  victuals,  and  cooked 
with  a  good  relish  —  a  cleanly  floor  and  soft  bed  —  a 
wholesome  cabin,  and  a  pleasant  smile- — with  no 
drudgery  at  home,  and  an  undeviating  obedience  to 


289 

the  smallest  request  —  if  these  could  not  induce  con 
tentment,  her  wit  was  exhausted,  and  "  things  must 
take  their  course."  After  Hector,  and  Csesar,  and 
Jeff  would  no  longer  listen  to  his  complaints,  he  would 
bottle  up  his  wrath,  and  pour  it  out  unrelentingly 
when  partaking  of  his  meals,  or  lingering  about  the 
door.  The  master  was  unkind,  the  overseer  was  severe, 
the  work  was  hard,  his  clothes  were  too  ragged,  his 
back  ached  with  rheumatism,  he  was  sick  —  in  short, 
the  world  went  wrong  with  him.  Dinah  would  meekly 
listen,  but  make  no  answer.  If  the  menaces  and  ill- 
natured  vociferations  of  the  father  aroused  the  com 
passion  of  the  children  for  their  mother,  she  would 
instantly  check  it,  and  excuse  his  conduct,  however 
great  the  moroseness  or  severe  the  provocation  to  reta 
liate.  She  loved  her  husband,  and  cast  all  the  blame 
upon  the  schoolmaster.  If  he  had  never  visited  the 
plantation,  she  believed  Uncle  Tom  would  have  been 
a  better  and  a  happier  man. 

In  this  wise  days,  weeks,  and  even  months,  passed 
away.  Once  or  twice  he  was  prevailed  upon  to  go  to 
"meeting"  at  the  oaks ;  but  he  had  lost  even  his  taste 
for  that ;  and  as  for  religious  service  in  his  closet  at 
home,  it  had  been  entirely  neglected.  The  voice  of 
prayer,  there,  was  no  longer  heard ;  he  crawled  into 
his  bed  at  night,  thankless  for  his  existence,  and  hope 
less  for  the  future.  We  said  hopeless ;  not  quite  so. 
lie  had  yet  a  hope  that  he  should  some  day  exchange 
"bis  present  lot  for  the  state  of  freedom. 

One  Saturday  afternoon,  toward  the  close  of  corn 


290  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

harvest,  Dinah  pressed  him  hard  to  go  and  hear  Jeff 
fiddle,  and  dance  off  u  the  blues." 

"  Dat  am  impossible  !  Yer  music  will  do  no  good. 
I  am  too  big  to  play  like  children,"  he  said,  without 
a  care  for  any  enjoyment  which  Dinah  might  receive 
from  the  pastime. 

"  You  increase  your  misery  by  your  obstinacy." 

"  Dar  am  whar' you  deceive  yourself.  You  think, 
'kase  I  am  fretful,  I  would  not  dance  ;  dat  's  a  mistake." 

"I  is  sure  —  sure,  Tommy." 

"S'pose  I  told  you,  you  would  not  believe." 

"  O,  yes  I  would  !  I  is  alwars  sure  to  hear  an'  think 
right,"  she  said,  patting  him  under  the  chin. 

"  I  would  like  to  listen  to  de  fiddle  :  but  dat  instru 
ment  now  disconcerts  my  thoughts." 

"  You  am  deceived  dar,  Tommy.  You  hab  no 
thoughts  now,  except  to  throw  blame  on  Dinah's 
shoulders." 

"  My  mind  is  constantly  on  de  wrong  Wo  both 
suffer." 

"  Do  n't  include  me." 

"  Yas,  yas  ;  I  know'd  you  ar'  not  conscious.  'T  is 
not  like  rheumatism.  Bigger  pain,  we  both  suffer." 

"Name  it,  Tommy." 

"  We  suffer  an  evil.  We  ar'  subjects  of  de  curs'd 
institution  of  slavery.  We  hab  de  power  of  shakin' 
um  off';  but  we  ar'  too  cowardly  —  too  cowardly; 
dat 's  de  trouble." 

'•  Oh  !  I  hab  heard  you  say  clis  so  many  times  that 
I  am  sick  of  de  sound.  Why  do  n't  uder  niggers  know, 
an'  feel,  an'  speak  so?" 


291 

"  'Kase  they  hab  no  brains  like  Uncle  Tom  ;  dat  !s 
the  reason." 

"  I  s'pects  de  oder  people  hab  not  as  much  dislike  to 
massa  as  yourself,  Tommy." 

'  Neber  you  mind  dat ;  I  am  instructin'  them,  day 
by  day.  You  '11  see  em  hobble ;  hold  your  breath 
awhile,  an'  you  will  not  find  me  alone  in  my  feelins'." 

Dinah  was  upon  the  point  of  asking  for  an  explana 
tion  of  this  enigma,  but  she  thought  it  was  one  of  her 
husband's  idle  sayings,  and  he  might  be  .displeased  if 
she  appeared  to  be  incredulous. 

"  I  am  guine  to  hear  Jeff,"  she  said. 

"Dat's  right,  Dinah.  I  am  guine  to  hear  better 
music  ;  shall  I  tell  you?  " 

"  Yes,  Tommy  ;  I  always  like  to  hear  you  talk." 

"  I  am  guine  to  hear  mass'r  Gravity  preach  to  de 
niggers ;  an'  Jeff  will  be  dar,  too,"  he  replied,  and 
bursting  into  a  loud  laugh,  hopped  over  the  fence. 

This  was  a  greater  enigma  than  the  other.  Dinah, 
however,  did  not  permit  it  to  make  a  lodgment  in  her 
mind,  and  taking  the  children,  went  to  hear  the  fiddle. 

For  some  reason  unknown  to  Mr.  Erskine,  the  blacks, 
for  some  time  past,  did  not  evince  as  great  a  willing 
ness  to  work.  Daily  becoming  more  slack,  he  directed 
the  overseer  to  have  a  talk  with  them,  and  ascertain 
whether  the  change  in  their  conduct  proceeded  from 
any  particular  cause.  Accordingly,  on.  the  day  in 
question,  the  slaves  were  bidden  by  the  overseer  to 
meet  him  at  the  elms.  Hector,  Caesar,  Jeff,  and  all 
the  rest  —  save  Uncle  Tom  —  were  ignorant  of  the  pur 
pose,  and  he,  even,  knew  not  the  precise  object.  He 


292  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

was  enlightened  more  by  suspicion  than  actual  knowl 
edge,  as  we  shall  soon  discover. 

Thay  were  directed  to  be  on  the  ground  as  early  as 
the  hour  of  two  in  the  afternoon.  Mr.  Gravity  was 
punctual,  but  they  were  not  all  there  until  long  after 
the  time  appointed.  Indeed,  JefF  was  so  tardy  thai 
the  overseer  began  to  suspect  that  lie  would  not  be 
present.  Uncle  Tom  chuckled  at  his  absence,  and 
hoped  that  it  would  be  prolonged  until  Mr.  Gravity, 
with  his  patience  exhausted,  returned  to  the  house. 

"You  are  growing  lazy,  JefF — lazy — very  lazy," 
said  the  overseer,  as  the  fiddler  came  sauntering  along. 

"  Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  You  should  have  been  here  more  than  an  hour 
ago ;  you  have  kept  us  waiting." 

"Sorry,  massa;  dat  nigger  dar,"  pointing  to  Uncle 
Tom,  "said  you  nam'd  dis  time  for  de  meetin',  or  I 
should  not  hab  danced  de  women  so  long." 

"That  fiddle  will  be  the  death  of  you,  unless  you 
pay  more  attention  to  your  work,  JefF.  The  good  book 
tells  us  that  there  is  a  time  for  all  things,  for  all  men; 

O     J 

but  I  am  fearful  that  you  are  left  out." 

"I  will  saw  the  brisker,  mass'r,  to  make  up  for  lost 
hour,  lie  is  ready;  so,  nigger,  git  on  de  track,"  re 
plied  Jeff,  with  the  impression  that  they  were  under 
the  elms  for  a  frolic;  and,  at  the  same  time  tuning  the 
strings  of  his  instrument. 

Mr.  Gravity  perceived  that  the  fiddler  mistook  the 
reason  why  they  were  called  there ;  but,  perhaps  he 
would  attain  his  object  better  by  allowing  instinct  to 
have  its  way;  and  so,  without  appearing  in  the  least 


disconcerted,  he  replied,  "  Lose  no  time,  my  boys,  but 
up,  and  strive  who  shall  be  called  the  nimblest  and 
longest-winded." 

The  word  was  no  sooner  given  than  Jeff  commenced, 
and  all  commenced,  and  such  a  reel  those  old,  tall, 
wide-spreading  and  low-bough  trees  never  before  wit 
nessed.  It  seemed,  too,  to  Mr.  Gravity,  that  it  would 
never  come  to  an  end.  It  was  certainly  full  half  an 
hour  before  the  music  ceased  a  moment,  and  equally 
untiring  were  the  feet  of  the  dancers.  Finally  they 
stopped  to  take  breath,  and  the  overseer,  availing  him 
self  of  the  interval,  remarked,  "  Boys,  if  you  would 
work  as  heartily  as  you  dance,  the  corn  would  soon  be 
garnered ;  I  wish  I  could  say  as  much." 

They  all  giggled,  and  showed  their  teeth,  which,  in 
contrast  with  their  jet  black  faces,  appeared  remark 
ably  white.  Uncle  Tom  laughed  outright ;  and  Jeff, 
without  seeming  to  notice  the  suggestion,  again  struck 
up  a  very  familiar  air.  Like  the  sound  of  the  bugle,  in 
calling  the  men  of  the  heath  or  high  road  together, 
it  brought  them  to  their  places  again,  and  before  Mr. 
Gravity  had  time  to  add  another  remark,  away  they 
hopped,  jumped,  and  danced,  without  regard  to  step 
or  measure. 

Mr.  Gravity  concluded  that  he  must  adopt  some  new 
mode  of  imparting  the  instructions  with  which  the 
planter  had  charged  him,  or  fail  to  do  his  duty.  He 
beckoned  several  times  to  Jeff,  to  hold  his  bow,  but 
the  slave  was  either  too  much  taken  up  with  the  mer 
riment,  or  did  not  comprehend.  It  was  of  no  use. 
Finally,  he  ran  out  from  under  the  shade  of  the  trees 


294  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

to  the  brink  of  the  bank  of  the  river,  and,  for  some 
minutes,  gazed  with  intense  earnestness  upon  the  water 
below.  Jeff  noticed  the  overseer,  and  wondered  what 
it  could  be  that  attracted  his  attention,  lie  could  not 
control  his  eager  curiosity  to  know,  and  with  hardly 
more  than  one  bound,  he  sprung  to  his  side. 

"Wha',  mass'r!  wha'  d'ye  see  down  thar?"  he 
instantly  inquired,  unwilling  to  lose  one  moment's 
observation. 

"Not  anything,"  Mr.  Gravity  calmly  replied. 

"Noffin!  mass'r?" 

"Yes.     Do  n't  disturb  me." 

"  Thinkin',  mass'r  ?     Thinkin'  ?  " 

"To  be  sure  I  am.     Would  you  know  what?  " 

"Speak  um,  mass'r — speak  um." 

"  How  busy  the  pickerel  are !  See  them  dart  through 
the  water ;  no  laziness,  Jeff,  there," 

"  ISTatur',  mass'r ;  dat  dis  nigger  calls  natur'." 

UD'  ye  think,  my  trusty  man,  those  tiny  beings 
were  intended  to  act  differently  from  all  other  animate 
creation  ? " 

"  You  hab  de  start  of  me,  now7 ;  I  do  n't  take.  Please 
mass'r,  explain  dat  remark." 

"Why,  are  you  so  ignorant?  have  you  heard  the 
gospel  to  so  little  profit?  Have  you  not  heard  the 
preacher,  time  and  again,  say,  at  the  oaks,  that  the 
fowls  of  the  air  and  the  fishes  of  the  sea  were  typical 
of  similar  instinctive  attributes  among  both  men  and 
beasts  ? " 

"Yas  — O  yas." 

"  It  is  unnatural,  then,  for  me  or  you  to  shirk  our 


295 

work ;  and  when  I  grow  lazy,  I  feel  I  am  wronging 
massa,  and  outraging  the  God  that  made  me." 

"Berry  good,  mass'r  Gravity." 

"  And  when  that  is  my  feeling,  I  always  reproach 
myself,  and  go  into  the  woods  yon  see  yonder,  and 
look  at  the  birds  as  they  fly  nimbly  from  bush  to 
bush ;  or  come  to  the  river,  as  now,  and  observe  the 
trout  and  pike  as  they  skim  along  the  surface  of  the 
water,  or  plunging  into  it  at  my  feet,  in  a  moment 
show  themselves  at  some  other  point.  The  lesson 
teaches  me  to  be  industrious,  and  I  ply  myself  to  work 
with  more  zeal  and  greater  contentment/' 

The  rest  of  the  slaves  came  to  a  halt  when  the  music 
ceased,  and  following  Jeff,  heard  what  the  overseer 
said,  in  profound  silence. 

"  Mass'r  Gravity,  is  dat  de  real  object  of  your  call 
ing  us  to  de  elms  dis  arternoon  ? "  inquired  Jeff,  after 
a  pause. 

"  Do  yon  not  think  it  was  necessary  ? " 

"Dunno,  mass'r." 

"  Have  not  all  of  you  hung  back  in  the  field,  and 
shown  less  disposition  to  hurry  the  work  ?  You  con 
fess  it  in  your  looks ;  and  the  corn  is  on  the  hill  when 
it  should  be  in  the  stack.  What  d'  ye  think  massa 
will  say  ? " 

"  I  s'pects  stipend  will  be  decreased,"  said  Uncle 
Tom,  as  if  he  did  not  care  if  it  was. 

"No,  no;  dat  will  neber  do.  "We  must  finish  the 
work  next  week  without  fail,"  remarked  Hector,  ap 
pearing  to  be  ashamed  that  this  reproof  was  deserved. 

"  What  say  you  all  2 "  asked  the  overseer. 


296  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

The  desire  to  keep  the  wages  up,  by  better  behavior, 
was  universally  assented  to,  with  the  exception  of 
Uncle  Tom.  He  turned  his  head  aside,  and  made  no 
response;  he  looked  as  if  disappointed. 

a  Shall  yours  be  kept  up  to  the  mark  ? "  said  the 
overseer  to  him. 

"  As  massa  may  think  best,"  he  replied,  with  sul- 
lenness. 

Mr.  Gravity  was  surprised,  and  again  turned  his 
eyes  to  the  water.  Uncle  Tom,  to  draw  him  out 
further,  added,  in  an  ironical  voice,  "  Dis  nigger  alwars 
did  his  duty  —  he  am  no  slouch,  air  massa  know'd  dat 
years  ago.  He  can't  work  foreber ;  'tis  not  right,  'less 
he  reaps  all  de  fruits  himself.  Dare,  you  hab  my 
notion." 

"Let  Uncle  Tom  alone;  he  thinks  of  noffin  but 
Kanon,"  said  Caesar,  disposed  to  act  as  a  pacificator. 

"  Confound  the  schoolmaster !  the  blame  is  upon 
him,"  replied  the  overseer,  and,  sensible  that  further 
parley  at  this  time  would  be  useless,  expressed  a  wish 
that  they  would  reform,  and  be  early  at  work  on 
Monday  morning. 


297 


CHAPTEK  XXL 

HIS  DETERMINATION  TO  GO  TO  THE    "  STA1 

The  discontented  negro  returned  from  the  elms  to 
the  quarters  disheartened.  "Why  could  not  his  com 
panions  appreciate  the  glorious  "  state  of  freedom?" 
was  the  question  which  he  asked  himself  repeatedly ; 
and  the  involuntary  response  uniformly  was,  "  be  con 
tent  with  thy  lot." 

Uncle  Tom  was  aware  of  the  indolence  of  his  fellow- 
slaves,  for  he  was  instrumental  in  producing  it.  He 
constantly  harped  upon  their  hardships,  magnified 
every  fault  of  the  planter,  and  resorted  to  all  the  means 
that  his  ingenuity  could  devise,  to  create  alienation 
and  uneasiness.  He  watched,  as  intently  as  ever  snake 
did  the  harmless  bird  perched  upon  a  tree,  the  effect 
of  his  efforts.  Pie  noticed  their  dilatoriness,  arid  took 
courage  ;  he  observed  the  annoyance  it  occasioned  the 
overseer ;  and  when  the  appointment  at  the  elms  was 
named,  he  flattered  himself  with  the  hope  that  the 
crisis  had  come.  He  expected  a  lecture  full  of  curses 
in  the  old  fashioned  way  ;  a  reduction  of  the  gratuity 


298  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OB 

threatened,  and  the  way  fully  prepared  for  a  revolt. 
The  sterling  good  sense  of  Mr.  Gravity,  acting  in  obe 
dience  to  the  command  of  the  proprietor  of  the  estate, 
prompted  the  pursuit  of  an  entirely  different  course 
to  reach  a  remedy  for  the  evil.  And  when  it  was  too 
plain  not  to  be  perceived,  that  Caesar  and  Jeff — to  say 
nothing  of  Hector  —  were  disposed  "to  mend  their 
ways,1'  he  was  satisfied  that  the  rest  would  follow  the 
example,  and  all  desire  to  change  their  condition  would 
be  banished  from  their  minds,  and  perhaps  for  forever. 

Uncle  Tom  met  Dinah  that  evening,  at  supper,  in  a 
far  different  mood  from  what  he  was  when  she  left 
him,  in  the  afternoon,  to  hear  Jeff's  fiddle. 

" Tommy,  my  dear,  what  now?  You  guine  to  be 
ugly  agin,  wid  your  own  Dinah  ? " 

"Feelin's —  feelin's  ar'  on  —  neber  go  away." 

"Whar'you  bin?1' 

"  D'  ye  recollect,  last  spring  massa  gib  um  a  big 
dance  by  the  river  side  ?  " 

"  When  you  was  shut  up  in  dat  ole  hovel  \ " 

"Yas  —  yas." 

"I  shall  neber  in  my  life  lose  the  memory  of  dat 
circumstance.  Oh  !  it  makes  me  shudder  now  to  think 
of  it." 

"Dat's  whar'Ibin." 

"  Pray,  Tommy,  what  was  dar  to  stir  you  up  ?  It 's 
a  quick  turn  you  made;  why,  you  hab  not  looked  so 
much  like  your  ownself  since  dat  dance,  as  you  did 
this  arternoon ;  an'  now  you  so  much  changed!  " 

"Dis  nigger's  integrity  is  too  large  to  stan'  sich 
treatment." 


TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.  299 

"  I  s'pose  you  could  not  help  thiukin'  how  you  war' 
punished  ? " 

"  Pshaw  !  sich  little  things  do  n't  trouble  me ;  big 
ger  ones  in  my  mind  —  more  important — looking 
more  to  the  future,  as  mass'r  Bates  would  say." 

"Well,  I  cannot  imagine  what  ye  think  'bout — 'less, 
'less—1' 

"  Ah !  I  knows  wha'  you  guine  to  say  now,  Dinah." 

"Freedom?" 

"  De  same." 

"  Hab  you  not  gib  um  up  yet  ?  I  seed  now  de  cause 
of  your  feelin's  ;  sorry  you  can  not  git  rid  of  um." 

"  Neber  mention  dat  agin ;  I  will  alwars  hold  on 
to  it." 

"  Then  mark  what  I  was  sayiri',  Tommy  ;  then,  you 
will  be  miserable  for  all  time  to  come.  Gib  um  up 
at  once." 

"  I  am  determined  to  be  a  free  man." 

"One  thing  to  say  —  quite  different  to  do.  You 
said  dat  afore;  too  old  and  cross.  You  can  neber 
save  enough  to  buy  your  liberty  of  massa." 

"  Nor  will  I  ever  do  sich  foolish  thing." 

"  La,  me !  you  don't  'spect  to  ever  run  off  North, 
d'ye?" 

"  Dinah,  mark  what  I  now  say  to  you,  in  de  strictest 
confidence :  I  shall  not  see  our  cabin  arter  to-morrow 
night!" 

"  Why,  how  you  talk !  "  exclaimed  Dinah,  her  eyes 
moistening  with  tears. 

"Now,  do  n't  take  on  so  ;  it 's  no  use." 

"  But,  you  can  not  fetch  me  an'  de  children ;  you 


300  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

could  hardly  contrive  how  to  do  so  when  mass'r  Bates 
was  here  to  help ;  now  we  are  alone,  an'  wid  no  friend 
to  help  us  in  our  hour  of  need." 

"  Hab  i  not  feet  to  walk  on,  an'  legs  to  run  with, 
an'  can  I  not  fetch  myself? " 

"  Tommy,  would  you  really  leave  us  all  in  slavery, 
wid  no  prospect  of  ever  being  otherwise ;  an'  you,  at 
de  same  time,  your  own  master  and  happy  ?  No,  no  ! 
too  soft-hearted  for  sich  conduct." 

"  Believe,  I  shall  not  desert  you.  When  I  am  safely 
housed  in  de  'state  of  freedom,'  you  will  hear  from 
me,  in  de  shape  of  a  letter  filled  with  money — plenty 
of  money." 

"  I  had  rather  see  you  than  the  money." 

u  So  you  shall  see  me.  Money  will  carry  you,  in 
flying  colors,  through  all  troubles,  an'  over  all  quag- 
aires,  no  matter  how  deep." 

"  Do  you  mean  that  I  shall  then  come  to  you,  wid 
our  dear  children  ? " 

"  Noffin  less  dan  dat." 

"Ah,  ha!  my  heart  aches  to  think  of  it.  A  wild 
plan  —  never  can  be  carried  out,"  said  Dinah,  shaking 
her  head,  and  moving  back  from  the  table.  "  To-mor 
row  am  Sunday  —  de  Lor's  day — do  not  go  then,"  she 
added,  "  wait  'till  Monday,  an'  I  will  help  you." 

He  paused  a  moment. 

"  On  Monday,  then,"  he  said,  and  the  conversation 
here  dropped. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  of  next  day,  Philisee  came 
running  into  the  cabin,  and  before  she  had  been  there 
five  minutes,  stated  that  Miss  Mary  had  just  then 


301 

looked  in  upon  her,  and  gave  her  calico  enough  for  a 
new  frock. 

"  La,  suz !  she  gib  me  one  last  week,  wid  compli 
ments  of  our  good  ole  massa." 

"  Do  you  recollect  our  ole  missus,  Dinah?  " 

"  Oh  !  bless  her!  mebbe  I  hab  forgot  her !  No,  no! 
never — -never  !  Did  n't  she  alwars  come  an'  look  in, 
an'  sit  down ;  and  when  we  war  sick,  comfort  us,  an' 
deal  out  de  medicine  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Dinah ;  an'  when  ole  disease  broke  up,  she 
would  send  Pompey  wid  some  wine,  an'  insist  upon 
our  takin"  all  we  could  wish.  She  is  in  heaven  among 
de  saints  ;  an',  as  you  mention  her, — would  you  believe 
it?  —  I  actually  —  it  is  as  true  as  I  now  sit  here,  I  saw 
her  in  my  sleep  last  night !  " 

"  Pooh  !  you  wench,  do  n't  turn  Dinah's  head  topsy- 
turvey  wid  dreams ;  there  is  enough  of  reality,  with 
out  making  up  stuff,"  interposed  Uncle  Tom,  who 
desired  to  terminate  the  conversation  so  happily  in 
progress. 

"  La !  Tommy,  my  ole  head  is  too  solid.  I  believe 
we  see  our  spirits,  though  ;  they  watch  over  us  for  our 
good." 

"  I  wish,  den,  you  an'  Philisee  could  see  one  spirit 
for  me." 

"  What 's  dat  ?  "  eagerly  inquired  the  latter. 

"  De  mighty  spirit  of  liberty  !  Dat  would  be  sen 
sible." 

This  exclamation  was  uttered  so  solemnly,  accom 
panied  with  such  a  wild,  demoniac  look,  that  Phili- 

eee  was  terrified,  and  shrieked.     Her  scream  was  so 
13* 


302  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

piercing,  it  reached  the  ears  of  her  husband  in  a  neigh 
boring  yard,  and  he  flew  to  her  assistance. 

"She  has  fainted  —  throw  water  in  her  face  —  it  will 
revive  her,"  said  Dinah,  handing  him  a  cup.  He  dis 
dainfully  dashed  it  away,  and  lifting  up  her  head,  he 
carried  her  in  his  arms  into  the  open  air.  The  fresh 
breeze  restored  the  n egress  to  consciousness,  and  she 
begged  to  be  taken  home. 

"  Who  struck  you  ?  "  asked  Hector ;  "  tell  me  quick, 
I  >m  in  haste  to  return  the  blow." 

"No  one.  Uncle  Tom  was  talkin'  of  Kanon  ;  he  is 
a  perfect  fury  on  dat  subject.  Let  me  git  out  of  his 
sight." 

"D'ye  see  what  a  muss  your  feelin's  make?  "said 
Dinah,  after  Philisee  and  her  husband  left  the  veranda. 

"No  harm  to  me;  it  may  do  good  to  them.  Let 
the  wench  ponder  de  thought  ober,  so  dat  when  you 
come  arter  me  she  may  be  inclined  to  bear  you 
company." 

"That  day  will  not  come.  You  will  talk,  but  you 
can  not  find  the  way  ;  it  is  a  long  road,  an'  the  corners 
and  windings  ar'  many,  an'  difficult  to  travel.  The 

o  *J    ' 

wolves  will  howl,  an'  the  serpents  will  bite.  If  you 
eber  git  dar,  the  cold  will  freeze  you  stiff,  an'  no  more 
on  earth  will  be  heard  of  poor  Uncle  Tom.  Abandon 
your  feelin's,  an'  think  of  home." 

"  You  waste  your  words,  Dinah." 

"  Here  lie  the  bones  of  your  good  old  father  an' 
mother  — " 

"Stop  right  dar!  "  said  the  slave,  the  floodgates  of 
pure  love  bursting  their  barriers  at  the  mention  of 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  303 

those  hallowed  names,  and  hot  tears  fast  trickling 
down  his  attenuated  cheeks. 

"  Wid  a  good  white  fence,  to  keep  off  ebeiy  animal 
an'  profane  intruder.  And  dar  you  see,"  she  continued, 
Ci  de  smooth  marble  dat  massa  put  in  the  ground,  to 
notify  our  children,  an'  their  children,  an'  all  our  blood, 
of  de  place  whar'  repose  de  remains  of  their  ancestors. 
Oh  !  will  you  forsake  um  all,  to  lie  down  in  a  strange 
land,  wid  none  to  close  your  eyes,  or  watch  your  spirit 
as  it  ascends  —  ah!  I  know  not  whar' — awray  off  to 
de  ISrorth  ?  If  you  would  not  tear  out  my  heart,  think 
no  more  of  your  '  state  of  freedom.' " 

The  slave  was  so  much  excited,  he,  for  a  moment  or 
two,  did  not  dare  to  trust  his  tongue.  He  silently 
gazed,  alternately  upon  his  wife  and  children  as  they 
lay  in  the  low  bed.  He  soon  collected  himself,  wiped 
away  the  teardrops  that  lingered  upon  the  face,  and 
rising  up  from  his  chair,  stepped  toward  a  picture  of 
Jesus  nailed  to  the  cross,  knelt  clown,  and  exclaimed 
in  a  mild  but  determined  voice,  "  I  swear  by  the  blood 
of  my  Saviour,  if  I  live  to  see  de  sun  go  behind  olo 
hills  to  morrow,  I  will  take  de  road  to  freedom!"  and 
returned  to  the  table.  - — *-^N ,—*—> 

"  Foolish  man!  you  will  famish  by  the  way.  Oh! 
I  beg  of  you,  remain  'tented  at  home.  You  know 
not  whar'  you  go ;  I  fear  dar  am  a  deep  sea  of  trouble 
afore  you,"  was  the  unflinching  response  of  an  affec 
tionate  wife.  . — * — . — ' — A— > 

"De  road  may  be  —  what  did  mass'r  Bates  call  um  ? 
ah,  dis  nigger  hab  a  good  memory  —  intricate,  some 
what;  more  than  once  I  shall  take  a  wrong  turning, 


304  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OB 

an'  perhaps  be  forced  to  take  back  my  steps ;  but 
Knowing  the  distance  I  hab  to  perform,  I  shall  not 
hurry  my  horse  too  much.  Fortune  will  favor  me, 
depend  upon  it,  Dinah ;  an'  I  shall  finally  reach 
de  promised  land,  wid  my  head  erect,  and  at  a  slash 
ing  trot." 

"You'd  best  quicken  your  pace,  then,  if  you 're 
bent  upon  makin'  de  trial,  for  thai1  may  be  them  a 
coining  avter  you,  dat  may  stop  your  getting  away 
quite  so  easy ;  and,  I  s'pose  you  hab  weighed  um  well 
in  your  mind  —  if  you  ar'  cotch'd  stealin'  de  horse, 
Winchester  jail  will  be  your  home  for  many  a  long 
day." 

"  Mistaken  already,  Dinah.  Abe — good  Abe  — 
furnishes  de  horse.  I  do  n't  take  massa's." 

"  So  be  it,  if  you  will  go ;  but  I  know'd  you  will 
not  eber  be  in  my  sight  again." 

"  Be  of  good  cheer ;  stick  to  your  integrity,  an'  Tom 
my  and  Dinah  will  sit  some  day  under  their  own  vine 
and  fig  tree  in  de  c  state  of  freedom,' "  gaily  said  the 
slave. 

The  wife  assured  him  of  her  cooperation  in  making 
his  escape,  and  he  retired  early  to  bed. 


305 


CHAPTEE    XXII. 

THE  ESCAPE. 

^N"ext  day's  sun  did  not  rise  earlier  than  Uncle  Tom. 
With  a  beating  heart  and  throbbing  pulse,  he  went 
through  the  various  chores,  and  anxious  to  devote  the 
entire  portion  of  the  day  in  making  preparations,  he 
feigned  sickness,  and  did  not,  as  usual,  go  to  the  field. 
"Worn  out  by  a  night  which  care  had  rendered  almost 
sleepless,  he  hastily  swallowed  a  cup  of  milk,  and 
turning  away  from  the  untasted  eatables,  flung  him 
self  upon  the  bed. 

Dinah,  glad  to  see  her  husband  rest,  would  not  dis 
turb  him ;  mid  when,  in  the  course  of  an  hour,  the 
overseer  called  to  learn  the  reason  of  his  absence,  she 
pointed  to  the  bed,  for  an  answer.  It  was  enough. 

"  If  your  husband  feels  no  better  when  he  awakes, 
let  Joe  come  and  tell  me,"  said  Mr.  Gravity. 

"Yas,  mass'r,  I  will  be  sure  to  do  that,"  quickly 
replied  Dinah,  thankful  that  the  overseer  did  not  mis 
trust  the  trick. 

He  slept  soundly,  and  it  was  mid-day  when  he 
awoke.  The  repose  refreshed  him  :  he  got  up  and  ate 


S06 

a  hearty  meal.  It  was  a  busy  afternoon,  and  the 
shades  of  evening  were  close  upon  the  day  ere  his 
arrangements  were  perfected.  Luckily,  he  had  not 
been  disturbed  by  visitors  or  loungers.  The  men  were 
at  work,  and  the  women  engaged  in  washing.  He  had 
a  clear  field  and  an  open  sky,  and  he  improved  the 
time.  Dinah  packed  his  clothes  in  as  small  a  compass 
as  possible ;  indeed,  there  were  not  many  to  carry,  as 
he  proposed  to  take  only  what  might  be  necessary  for 
actual  use  —  he  did  not  wish  to  be  incumbered.  Be 
sides,  he  entertained  no  doubt  but  that  he  should  easily 
replenish  his  scanty  wardrobe,  as  soon  as  he  readied 
the  happy  land.  And  when  night  actually  set  in,  he 
believed  himself  ready  to  set  off  on  the  journey. 

Notwithstanding  "his  feelings,"  he  had  a  desire  to 
take  a  parting  look  at  his  master,  and  he  sauntered 
over  to  the  house.  He  pretended  that  he  came  to 
thank  the  overseer  for  his  attention  in  the  morning, 
and  after  announcing  that  his  sickness  was  over,  said 
he  should  be  able  to  recommence  work  the  next  day. 
This  was  welcome  intelligence  to  all,  and  especially  to 
Mr.  Erskine,  who  concluded  that  the  slave  intended  to 
act  better  and  work  with  more  will. 

It  was  after  nine  o'clock;  all  was  still  at  the  quar 
ters —  no  lights  were  to  be  seen  at  the  mansion.  The 
slave  and  his  wife  were  sitting  in  their  cabin,  each 
anxious  for  the  proper  time  to  arrive,  and  yet  wishing 
it  to  be  deferred  as  long  as  possible.  The  hour  had  at 
length  come.  He  must  then  leave,  or  never.  Sum 
moning  all  his  fortitude,  he  broke  the  silence  by  whis 
pering,  "  he  must  go." 


307 

"Oh!  Tommy,  Tommy!"  exclaimed  Dinah,  and 
covered  her  face  and  eyes  with  her  apron. 

"  Hush !  hush !  you  will  wake  up  the  children  wid 
your  sobbing.  I  can  not  bear  dat  now !  if  I  should 
see  their  eyes,  I  'm  afeerd  I  could  not  stir,"  he  said, 
and  at  once  slung  "  the  pack  "  upon  his  shoulders. 

"  An'  must  you,  Tommy — must  you  now  leave  us?" 

"  Pluck,  my  good  woman  ;  now,  if  ever,  let  me  know 
your  pluck.  No  whimpering :  look  sorrow  plump  in 
de  face.  I  must  go." 

"  Oh!  I  fear  our  days  are  few,  and  full  of  sorrow !" 

"  Xo,  Dinah,  no.  From  this  minute  commences  our 
happiness.  We  will  now  think  of  freedom,  an'  soon 
shall  hab  um." 

"  Dunno;  I  can't  believe  it,  so  contrary  to  natur." 

"Pooh!  I  feel  um  in  my  bones." 

"  But,  I  fear  me,  dat  we  ar1  doin'  wrong  in  sight 
of  our  Divine  Master.  I  can't  think  otherwise.  It 
gibs  me  much  trouble.  Oh !  I  'm  afraid  you  ar'  wild, 
Tommy." 

"You  jist  mentioned,  Dinah,  de  berry  thing  that 
justifies  us.  We  hab  but  one  mass'r,  an'  he  is  'bove 
de  earth.  We  are  not  boun'  to  serve  rnass'r  Erskine, 
if  we  do  not  eat  his  substance.  We  shall  work  for 
ourselves,  an'  live  upon  ourselves  :  what  injury,  den, 
do  we  to  him,  as  we  ar'  accountable  only  to  God,  who 
breathed  into  us  de  breath  of  life  ?  ISTo,  no ;  make 
yourself  easy  on  dat  subject.  All  right,  if  we  can 
only  get  to  the  land  prepared  for  us;  dat  accomplished, 
and  our  anxiety  is  at  an  end." 

;'  Oh!  be  careful  of  yourself:  if  sick,  take  medicine; 


SOS  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH;    OR 

bo  not  wasteful  wid  your  new  clothes,  and  send  word 
to  poor  Dinah  how  you  am,  and  when  she  shall  over 
take  you." 

''Trust  me  for  dat,"  he  answered,  and  with  a  slight 
trernulousness  in  his  voice,  requested  the  candle  to  be 
blown  out. 

u  It  will  throw  a  light  into  the  yard  as  I  open  de 
door,"  he  added,  and  after  hugging;  and  kissing  his 

/  '  c^O        o  o 

wife,  he  said  "good  bye,"  and  softly  opening  the  door 
wide  enough  to  get  out,  crept  along  by  the  side  of  the 
fence  to  the  highway. 

An  unexpected  obstacle  here  interrupted  his  pro 
gress.  He  heard  the  distant  rattling  of  carriage  wheels, 
and  the  sound  seemed  to  be  down  the  road,  in  the  direc 
tion  he  proposed  to  travel.  It  would  not  do  for  him  to 
be  seen  at  the  dead  of  night  in  his  present  plight :  it 
would  be  suspicious.  lie  might  then,  perhaps,  be 
taken  up.  And  besides,  he  did  not  care  to  have  it 
known  the  next  day,  which  way  he  went.  lie  walked 
on,  and  soon  was  near  enough  to  satisfy  himself  that 
the  vehicle  was  approaching  him.  Clouds  overcast 
the  heavens,  and  the  moon  rose  late.  lie  turned  into 
the  lane,  and  notwithstanding  it  was  very  dark,  pro 
ceeded  down  it  some  distance,  lest  the  dog  that  might 
accompany  the  traveler  should  bark,  if  be  crouched 
under  the  fence  by  the  wayside. 

It  turned  out  to  be  a  gig,  with  a  gentleman  and 
lady,  and  in  a  moment  or  two  passed  by.  The  slave 
reentered  the  road,  and  pushed  on  as  fast  as  his  legs 
could  carry  him.  Nothing  occurred  to  disturb  his 
midnight  walk,  and  when  the  heralds  of  morning  began 


309 

to  purple  the  horizon  in  the  east,  he  was  several  miles 
below  the  village  of  Millwood.  His  intention  was  to 
reach  Abe's  barn  before  daylight,  and  there  rest  until 
evening.  He  hurried  his  pace  as  it  grew  light ;  but 
when  the  sun  was  up,  he  was  several  miles  off  from 
Winchester,  and  he  did  not  dare  to  trust  himself  longer 
on  the  public  thoroughfare.  There  was  a  narrow  clear 
ing  between  the  road  and  the  woods,  and  he  jumped 
across  the  ditch  and  hedge,  and  hid  himself  in  the 
thicket. 

The  fugitive  was  glad  enough  to  lie  down  and  rest 
his  weary  limbs.  But  he  did  not  know  who  might 
chance  to  come  and  pounce  upon  his  defenceless  body; 
he  must  not,  therefore,  indulge  himself  in  the  luxury  of 
a  sleep,  and  the  effort,  constantly,  to  keep  awake,  made 
it  the  more  difficult  to  keep  his  eyes  open.  He  ate 
his  corncake,  and  drank  liberally  of  the  milk  that 
Dinah  bottled  for  his  use.  Exhausted  with  watch 
fulness,  he  finally  stretched  himself  at  full  length 
upon  the  ground,  and  fell  into  a  slumber. 

Towards  noon  he  awoke,  and  opening  his  eyes,  he 
saw  standing  before  him  a  lad,  with  a  basket  suspended 
upon  his  arm.  He  started  to  his  feet  so  suddenly  that 
the  lad  was  frightened,  and  scampered  to  get  out  of  his 
eight. 

"Hallo!  you  little  nigger,  you!"  cried  Uncle  Tom, 
unwilling  to  part  company  so.  He  was  fearful  that 
the  lad  might  run  and  tell  what  he  had  seen ;  but  the 
youngster  was  too  frightened  to  stop.  This  would 
never  do,  thought  the  fugitive,  and  he  ran  after  him. 
The  underbrush,  however,  was  thick,  and  the  limbs 


310  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

of  the  trees  were  low,  and  the  lad  had  the  advantage. 
Uncle  Tom  gave  up  the  chase,  and  returned  to  his  hid 
ing-place.  He  remained  undisturbed  the  residue  of 
the  afternoon  ;  and  the  privacy  would  have  been  lonely 
and  irksome,  but  his  mind  was  constantly  on  the  alert, 
and  full  of  anticipated  scenes. 

Immediately  after  nightfall,  he  issued  forth  from  the 
woods,  and  made  his  way  to  the  road.  This  was  im 
prudent,  for  he  was  in  danger  of  being  seen  when  he 
entered  it,  and  probably  would  meet  more  or  less  per 
sons,  so  early  in  the  evening.  He  was  in  too  urgent 
haste,  however,  to  get  on  further  from  the  plantation 
of  his  master  before  the  sun  should  show  himself  again. 
His  pace  was  rapid,  for  he  desired  to  reach  the  barn 
ere  his  friend,  the  hostler,  closed  it  for  the  night.  Two 
hours  walk,  he  thought,  would  bring  him  to  the  city, 
and  the  result  of  this  extra  exertion  showed  that  he 
was  not  so  much  mistaken  in  his  anticipation.  He 
saw  many  lights  as  he  entered  the  suburbs,  and  taking 
one  of  the  back  streets  proceeded  as  fast  and  noiselessly 
as  he  could,  to  Abe's  quarters.  Fortunately,  the  hos 
tler  was  detained  later  -than  usual,  and  was  readily 
found. 

"Come  at  last,  nab  you?"  he  said,  as  the  fugitive 
came  to  the  stall  where  he  was  currying  and  brushing 
off  a  horse. 

"  Yas,  Abe,  my  friend." 

"  Why  war  you  not  here  last  night — any  accident?  " 

"Too  far — too  long  walk  for  one  night  —  slept 
during  the  day  nine  or  ten  miles  back.  I  'in  all 
right." 


311 

"  "Well,  git  np  on  de  hay-mow,  till  I  hab  clean'd  dis 
boss,  an'  I  '11  attend  to  you." 

The  fugitive  complied  cheerfully  with  this  order,  and 
took  a  lunch. 

u  Here  's  some  bacon  an'  oder  fixin's  ;  make  a  sup 
per  of  them,  for  you  will  be  hungry,  riding  all  night," 
said  Abe  as  he  ascended  the  ladder. 

"  Thank  'ee,  I  hab  jist  made  rny  supper  from  some 
articles  dat  Dinah  put  up  for  me." 

"  Well,  throw  um,  then,  into  the  saddlebags ;  keep 
all  you  can  git." 

Uncle  Tom  and  Abe  had  known  each  other  inti 
mately  from  boyhood.  There  was  more  than  a  simple 
u  good  fellow-feeling  "  existing  between  them.  They 
had  played  and  romped  together  as  boys,  danced  and 
attended  "  merry-makings  "  in  company  as  they  ad 
vanced  in  years,  and  although  the  latter,  by  possessing 
more  enterprise,  and  from  good  luck,  acquired  means 
enough  to  buy  his  freedom  several  years  before,  yet 
their  intimacy  continued  unbroken,  and  the  free  man 
took  a  lively  interest  in  the  welfare  of  the  slave.  Con 
sequently,  Abe  readily  seconded  the  efforts  of  his 
friend  to  run  away,  and  did  not  hesitate  to  offer  all  the 
aid  in  his  power. 

It  was  arranged  between  them  that  the  hostler 
should  loan  the  fugitive  a  horse,  and  after  he  reached 
the  "state  of  freedom,"  he  should  remit  him  fifty  dol 
lars  therefor.  This  would  enable  the  slave  to  widen 
the  distance  faster  between  himself  and  his  master ; 
and  if  he  should  find  it  difficult  to  beg  hay  and  prov 
ender  after  he  traveled  far  on  his  way,  he  could  sell 


312  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

the  animal  to  the  best  advantage,  and  with  the  money 
obtained  upon  the  sale,  hire  his  passage  in  some  pub 
lic  conveyance. 

The  beast  was  ready  when  the  fugitive  reached  the 
barn,  and  as  there  was  no  time  to  be  lost,  he  was  soon 
saddled  and  bridled,  and  the  bags  containing  clothing 
and  provisions  fastened  to  the  seat.  Uncle  Tom  de 
scended  the  ladder  to  mount  into  the  saddle. 

"It  is  necessary  that  you  should  daub  your  face 
with  flour,  so  that  you  may  not  be  taken  for  a  colored 
man.  It  will  last  you  until  out  of  the  city.  I  will 
give  you  my  permit  to  use  when  you  get  out.  I  can 
get  a  new  one,"  said  the  hostler. 

"I  don't  understand  this?  " 

"  AVhy,  no  color'd  man  has  a  right  to  be  out  arter 
dark,  here  in  Winchester,  unless  permitted  by  master, 
or  if  free,  has  de  evidence  thereof  in  his  possession. 
So,  do  as  I  tell  you." 

The  fugitive  whitened  his  face  as  directed,  and 
thanking  his  friend  in  the  warmest  terms,  bid  him 
farewell. 

"  Remember,  now,  your  name  is  Abe,"  said  the  host 
ler,  and  the  fugitive,  nodding  assent,  rode  out  of  the  barn. 

The  heavens  were  clear  and  full  of  stars,  and  lighted 
him  on  his  way.  The  beast  moved  over  the  ground  at 
good  speed,  and  long  before  morning,  he  was  far  from 
the  county  of  Frederick,  and  riding  rapidly  on  toward 
the  northern  limits  of  the  state.  Abe  was  well  ac 
quainted  with  the  country  for  some  distance,  and  gave 
his  friend  particular  directions  as  to  the  course  he 
should  pursue. 


313 

Fortune,  for  the  first  time,  as  be  thought,  now  fa 
vored  him.  lie  was  unmolested,  and  took  courage. 
He  had  money  enough  to  buy  forage  for  several  days. 
He  traveled  the  main  road,  believing  that  he  should 
be  less  liable  to  suspicion.  He  stopped  at  an  unpre 
tending  inn,  to  rest  and  feed,  near  the  usual  time  for 
breakfast.  He  was  treated  like  other  travelers  ;  and 
after  an  hour's  repose,  remounted  and  pursued  his 
journey.  It  so  happened  that  he  had  struck  upon  a 
turnpike,  and  after  riding  a  short  distance,  came  to  a 
gate.  By  a  regulation  then  in  force  in  that  precinct, 
it  was  incumbent  upon  the  keeper  to  know  the  author 
ity  under  which  the  fugitive  was  traveling  the  high 
road. 

"Your  name?"  said  he,  as  he  came  out  of  the  lodge 
to  raise  the  gate  for  the  traveler  to  pass. 

"Tom  —  Uncle  Tom,"  was  the  prompt  reply. 

"  Are  you  free  ?  " 

"  Yas,  yas  ;  I  can  go  as  I  like." 

"  Let  me  see  the  warrant." 

He  handed  the  gate -tender  the  paper  which  Abe 
gave  him. 

"  What  is  this  ? "  said  the  gate-tender,  turning  it 
over  with  an  air  of  surprise.  "  Where  did  you  get  it 
from,  my  good  fellow  ?  what  does  it  mean  ?  I  do  n't 
understand  this,  at  all." 

"  From  Winchester,"  replied  the  slave,  disconcerted. 

"  From  Winchester?"  repeated  the  gate-tender,  with 
a  similar  air  of  surprise,  for  the  purpose  of  making  the 
black  think  it  was  a  different  paper, —  supposing  that 
he  could  not  read,  or  he  would  not  be  so  simple  as  to 


31-i  LIFE    AT    THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

give  his  name  different  from  the  one  written  in  the 
document. 

"  Yas,  mass'r,  jist  so,"  the  slave  affirmed,  with  an 
innocent  look.  The  gate-tender  turned  it  over  again. 

"  I  understood  you  to  give  your  name  as  Tom  ;  am 
1  right,  my  good  fellow  ?  " 

The  mistake  flashed  upon  his  mind,  and  the  last 
injunction  of  the  hostler  came  fresh  to  his  memory. 
His  heart,  which  a  moment  before  was  buoyant  with 
hope,  sunk  within  him,  and  he  scarcely  had  courage 
to  answer.  If  he  had  been  white,  this  sudden  de 
spondency  would  have  stood  out  in  bold  relief  upon  his 
visage;  as  it  was,  his  black  face  served  as  an  admira 
ble  visor  to  conceal  his  real  emotions.  He  coughed, 
and  gained  time  to  think,  and  then  faintly  stammered 
out,  "lSro,  massa,  Abe  am  the  correct  name." 

"  Ah,  ha !  that  does  not  correspond  with  the  name 
here  given  in  this  document!  A  mistake  —  perhaps 
cheat — somewhere,"  said  the  gate-tender,  knowing 
well  enough  that  he  did  not  misunderstand,  and  from 
the  horseman's  procrastination  in  answering,  mistrust 
ful  that  there  was  something  wrong.  So  he  thought  he 
would  be  justified  in  pretending  that  the  name  given 
the  second  time  was  also  not  correct,  if  the  paper 
was  to  be  relied  upon  by  the  black  for  his  passport. 
The  slave  had  good  sense  enough  to  know  it  was 
policy  to  adhere  to  the  name  he  gave  last,  and  u  lie  it 
through." 

"I  told  you,  sir,  my  name  war  Abe.  It  war  Abe 
from  de  beginning ;  it  wTill  be  Abe  foreber.  Gib  me 
back  my  permit,  an'  let  me  pass  ;  here  's  your  change — 


315 

slaves  hab  no  money ! "  said  he,  with  remarkable  self- 
possession. 

"Don't  they!  The  devil  take  me,  if  they  don't, 
now-a-days,  have  more  money  than  the  whites,  in  these 
parts.  I  do  n't  know  what  has  got  into  the  masters. 
There  was  a  time  when  I  could  tell  whether  a  nigger  was 
a  slave  or  not,  the  moment  I  saw  him ;  but  the  free  are 
getting  to  be  as  thick  and  common  as  white  folks." 

"Dis  nigger  cares  not  to  hear  your  speech;  he  has 
a  great  way  to  travel,  an'  am  in  a  hurry;  so  hoist  your 
gate,  an'  let  me  pass  on." 

"  But,  my  good  fellow,  answer  me  honestly  this :  did 
you  not  give  your  name  as  Tom  —  Uncle  Tom  —  when 
you  first  rode  up  ?  Now,  no  deception." 

"  Pshaw !  white  man,  no ;  do  you  s'pose  dat  I  am 
guine  to  palm  myself  off  for  somebody  else  ?  De 
thought  neber  entered  dis  nigger's  head.  I  am  not 
asham'd  to  own  myself  anywhar'." 

"Be  jabers,  though,  you  said  Tom — Uncle  Tom." 

"  Oh !  —  ah  !  I  remembers  ;  I  said  —  I  meant  to  hab 
said  —  dat  Tom,  my  excellent  friend,  brought  it  to  me 
from  de  court  house  at  Winchester  ;  da  's  it." 

"When?" 

"  I  disremember  de  time — no  matter;  I  put  myself 
on  the  defensive ;  make  de  most  of  urn.  I  '11  complain 
of  yer  detaining  me  unlawfully,  if  de  gate  am  not 
immediately  run  up." 

The  gate  tender  verily  believed  that  the  negro  had 
crossed  himself;  but  he  had  no  evidence,  and  possibly 
he  was  mistaken.  The  stage  was  coming  rapidly  up, 
and  without  more  ado,  he  gave  the  negro  the  paper. 


310  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

and  pulled  the  rope.  The  fugitive  passed  under  the 
gate,  and  putting  spurs  to  his  horse  rode  on  at  a  fast 
trot.  The  animal  was  not  sure-footed,  and  descending 
a  hill,  a  mile  or  two  distant  from  the  gate,  stumbled 
and  fell  upon  his  side,  jamming  one  of  the  slave's  legs 
quite  badly.  After  a  little  delay,  he  got  the  horse 
upon  his  feet  again,  and  pushed  forward,  but  not  as 
briskly.  The  pain  from  the  bruise  increased,  and  in  a 
short  time  it  became  so  poignant  that  he  found  himself 
compelled  —  much  against  his  inclination  —  to  halt, 
and  ask  for  assistance.  Upon  examination,  the  ankle 
appeared  to  be  dislocated ;  he  was  offered  the  hos 
pitality  of  the  house  into  which  he  chanced  to  wander, 
and  a  physician  kindly  sent  for. 


317 


CHAPTEE   XXIII. 

THE    PURSUIT. 

On  the  second  day  after  Uncle  Tom  bade  farewell 
to  the  cabin,  the  following  was  posted  on  the  corners 
of  the  principal  streets  in  the  city  of  Winchester : 

RUNAWAY $100    REWARD. 

My  slave  Tom — familiarly  known  as  Uncle  Tom- 
escaped  from  my  plantation,  as  near  as  I  can  ascertain, 
night  before  the  last.     Whoever  shall  restore  him  to 
my  possession,  will  be  entitled  to  the  above  reward. 

The  slave  is  forty-five  years  of  age;  color,  jet 
black ;  built  stout ;  about  five  feet  four  inches  in  height; 
scar  on  the  forehead,  above  the  right  eye;  limps  in 
his  walk ;  carries  his  head  high,  and  usually  very 

talkative. 

JAMES  ERSKINE, 

Of  Oakland,  near  Millwood. 

The  handbill  attracted  the  attention  of  the  passers, 

and  many  stopped  to  peruse  it.     There  was  one  posted 
14 


J'lS  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

upon  Abe's  barn,  it  being  a  public  place;  and  in  tlio 
course  of  two  or  three  hours  —  such  circulation  did  this 
item  of  news  have  —  many  of  the  free  colored  people 
of  the  town  had  congregated  there,  each  desirous  to 
know  whether  the  other  possessed  any  information  on 
the  subject,  and  freely  discussing  the  direction  the 
runaway  might  have  taken,  and  the  probability  of  his 
recapture. 

Mr.  Gravity  was  aware  of  the  intimacy  existing  be 
tween  the  hostler  and  fugitive ;  and  hoping  that  the 
former  might,  at  some  time,  casually  drop  a  hint  to 
his  comrades,  if  he  did,  in  fact,  know  anything  of  the 
whereabouts  of  the  latter,  the  overseer  employed  one 
of  the  citizens,  who  was  accustomed  to  trade  and  traf 
fic  in  the  barter  of  horses,  to  court  his  company,  and 
loiter  about  the  premises  as  much  as  he  properly  could, 
without  creating  a  suspicion  of  his  purpose,  and  to 
report,  at  short  intervals,  to  the  planter  at  the  tavern, 
what  he  might  happen  to  hear. 

The  citizen  was  well  acquainted  with  Abe,  and  ex 
perienced  no  inconvenience  in  whiling  away  the  time. 
He  laughed  and  joked,  and  was  so  full  of  witticism, 
as  to  throw  the  blacks,  and  Abe  also,  entirely  off  their 
guard.  Queerly  enough,  Abe,  some  two  months 
before,  purchased  of  this  citizen  the  horse  which  carried 
Uncle  Tom  out  of  town.  In  looking  around,  the  citi 
zen  did  not  perceiv  j  the  horse  in  question,  and  naturally 
inquired  of  the  hostler  if  he  had  parted  with  him. 

"Yas,"  said  he,  without  evincing  any  disposition  to 
mention  the  particulars. 

"How  much  did  you  make  on  the  trade,  jockey?  " 


319 

u  Do  n't  be  too  inquisitive,"  he  bluntly  replied." 

""  Ah !  lost ;  well,  you  must  drive  a  better  bargain 
the  next  time." 

u  Who  told  you  dis  nigger  lost?  He  know'd  noftin, 
eeny  way,"  said  the  negro,  his  temper  beginning  to 
rise  at  such  a  reflection  upon  his  sagacity. 

"These  little  fellars  up  here," said  the  citizen,  point 
ing  to  his  brains. 

41  Berry  good,  you  can  inform  um  dat  I  got  what  I 
wanted,  an1  it  am  none  of  yer  business  ;  so  git  along." 

"When  did  you  part  with  the  animal,  Abe?" 

"  Not  long  since." 

"I  am  sorry  I  did  not  know  you  would  sell;  for  I 
would  have  liked  to  have  had  the  refusal  of  the  beast. 
Good  wind  and  sure-footed.  By  the  way,  how  was 
his  flesh  ?  " 

"  Hound  as  a  barrel  —  plump  —  neberlook'd  better." 

"What  a  pity  that  I  did  not  hear  of  it!  Why,  I 
should  have  thought  I  must  heard  of  your  disposition  to 
sell ;  I  'in  passing  here  'most  every  day,"  remarked  the 
citizen,  apparently  very  sorry  that  he  lost  the  chance. 

"  I  do  n't  alwars  make  a  sign  of  myself,"  replied 
the  hostler,  walking  into  one  of  the  stalls. 

"Who  bought  the  critter?  perhaps  I  can  get  him 
now." 

"Oh !  I  sold  um  to  one  of  my  friends,  for  a  family 
horse ;  he  would  n't  part  wid  de  beast  now,  for  any 
sum  — dat  I  does  know." 

"You  can  tell  me  where  the  purchaser  lives?  Per 
haps,  now,  I  can  make  a  rap ;  I  have  did  such  things 
many  a  time,  though  it  had  a  bad  look  when  I  opened." 


320  LIFE  IN  THE  SOUTH  ;    OR 

"I  did  n't  ax  de  question." 

"  Ah !  I  understand ;  lie  was  a  stranger  in  these 
parts." 

"  Appeared  to  be  traveling  —  chanced  along  here," 
replied  the  hostler;  and  started  off  whistling  into  the 
street. 

"  There  is  necromancy  somewhere,"  said  the  citizen, 
in  an  under-tone.  As  he  could  not  continue  the  con 
versation,  he  proceeded  to  the  tavern,  to  report  to  the 
planter. 

To  return  to  the  plantation.  We  can  not  say  that 
Mr.  Erskine  was  at  all  astonished,  when  he  heard,  the 
next  (lay,  that  Tom  had  gone  off.  He  was  expecting 
some  such  trouble,  although  he  hoped  to  avert  it  by 
generous  treatment.  The  intelligence,  however,  reached 
him  so  quick,  he  flattered  himself  that  he  should  be 
able  to  recover  his  property.  The  information  leaked 
out  oddly.  It  appeared,  that  when  Dinah  got  up  in 
the  morning,  such  was  her  sense  of  guilt  in  conniving 
at  the  escape,  and  wilfully  blinding  the  eyes  of  the 
overseer,  the  day  before,  by  falsely  pretending  that 
her  husband  was  sick, —  added  to  that  feeling  of  utter 
loneliness,  which  came  over  her  as  she  sat  down  to 
eat  her  breakfast, —  that  she  wept  bitterly  herself,  and 
aroused  a  kindred  sensation  in  the  bosoms  of  the  chil 
dren.  The  unusual  wailing,  at  so  early  an  hour,  caught 
the  ears  of  Hector  passing  by,  and  fearful  that  some 
sudden  calamity  had  befallen  this  humble  household, 
he  looked  in,  and,  to  his  perfect  astonishment,  beheld 
Dinah  stretched  upon  the  bed,  the  children  on  their 
knees  in  front  of  it,  and  all  in  tears,  writhing  in  the 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  321 

deepest  sorrow.  Anxious  for  the  cause,  and  ready 
do  all  in  his  power  to  allay  the  grief,  he  demanded  to 
to  be  informed  immediately.  The  distracted  woman 
scarcely  knew  what  she  said.  Taking  pity  on  her 
helpless  condition,  he  asked  where  her  husband  was, 
and  received  for  answer  that  he  had  gone  North. 
Hector  consoled  her  as  well  as  he  could,  and  went  to 
the  overseer,  to  inform  him  of  the  occurrence. 

The  field  and  work  was  abandoned  for  the  day,  and 
all  hands  were  busy  to  ascertain  the  particular  direc 
tion  taken  by  the  runaway  slave.  They  tracked  him 
for  a  mile  or  two  on  the  road,  and  then  lost  sight  of 
him.  Whether  he  had  taken  to  the  open  lots,  to  avoid 
pursuit,  or  hidden  in  the  woods,  rested  in  conjecture. 
One  thing  was  certain,  he  would  make  his  way  north 
ward  ;  and  believing  that  he  was  not  many  miles  off, 
the  planter  deemed  it  advisable  to  proceed  to  Win 
chester,  and  give  public  notice  of  his  loss.  He  made 
inquiries  there,  but  had  not,  up  to  this  time,  derived 
any  reliable  information.  He  heard  that  some  person 
saw  a  strange  negro  in  one  of  the  back  streets,  the  eve 
ning  previous;  but  the  individual  could  not  be  found, 
and  he  remained  in  the  dark  as  much  as  ever.  It  was 
under  these  circumstances,  that  the  citizen  had  been 
employed  as  a  spy;  and  Mr.  Erskine  was  now — it 
being  near  noon  —  awaiting  at  his  room  for  news.  A 
rap  on  the  outside  of  the  door  signified  that  some  per 
son  desired  admission,  and  he  rose  to  welcome  the 
visitor.  It  was  the  overseer  and  citizen. 

"What  have  you  learned?"  he  immediately  asked. 

"  Enough  to  set  me  thinking,"  replied  the  citizen, 


322  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

who  at  once  rehearsed,  as  minutely  as  he  could  recol 
lect,  what  passed  between  himself  and  the  hostler. 

"Suspicious,  I  must  confess,  very  suspicious.  Not 
sufficient  to  found  an  accusation  upon,  however.  "VVe 
must  know  more  ;  can  you  not  obtain  more  information 
at  the  bar?  The  clerk  may  recollect  the  stranger." 

"That  has  already  been  done;  but  nothing  worth 
mentioning  is  known  there,"  replied  the  citizen. 

"  Well,  what  is  your  advice  ?  " 

"  I  would  despatch  some  person  forward,  without 
delay." 

"  He  has  a  good  start." 

'  Yes ;  but  with  relay  of  horses,  he  will  be  over 
hauled  in  the  course  of  the  next  eight  and  forty 
hours." 

"What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Gravity  ?" 

"  It  is  the  only  course  to  take." 

"If  your  suspicion  is  well  founded,  I  must  engage 
your  services,"  said  Mr.  Erskine  to  the  citizen. 

"  I  am  at  your  service,  sir  ;  but  the  overseer  would 
be  more  apt  to  track  the  nigger.  Besides,  I  might  not 
know  him,  from  the  advertisement,  even  if  I  should 
see  him." 

"  Yes,  but  you  know  the  horse,  and  can  easier  de 
scribe  the  animal  as  you  proceed  along  the  road." 

"  I  think,"  remarked  Mr.  Gravity,  "  that  we  both 
should  go.  I  can  describe  and  know  the  runaway,  and 
our  friend  here  can  describe  and  know  the  horse.  No 
"mistake  will  then  be  made,  in  either  case." 

"  Very  good ;  be  it  as  you  say.  When  shall  you 
start?" 


" Immediately  after  dinner,. as  our  horses  can  then 
be  in  readiness." 

"Is  this  agreeable  to  you?"  said  the  planter  to  the 
citizen. 

"  Certainly ;  I  'm  ready  at  any  hour,"  he  replied. 

"We  will  consider  it  so  arranged.  Be  thorough, 
and  ride  hard  and  late." 

"  How  far  shall  we  follow  ? "  asked  the  overseer. 

"As  your  own  judgment  may  dictate,  Mr.  Gravity," 
said  Mr.  Erskine,  and  filled  the  overseers  purse  with 
money.  The  pursuers  left  the  city  immediately  after 
dinner,  the  planter  concluding  to  remain  there  quietly 
for  a  few  days,  and  if  the  runaway  wTas  still  south  of  that 
point,  to  be  ready  to  act  as  circumstances  might  suggest. 

The  hostler  was  not  pleased  with  his  interview  with 
the  citizen.  He  was  fearful  that  he  might  have  gone 
too  far,  and  watched  his  movements.  He  observed 
him  and  the  overseer,  whom  he  knew  perfectly  well, 
as  they  left  the  tavern  ;  and  perceiving  that  they  took 
the  high  road  that  lead  to  the  northward,  he  became 
more  uneasy,  lest  he  might  have  said  something  that 
compromised  himself.  He  thought  Tom  had  a  good 
start,  however,  and  would  hold  his  own. 

"They  are  arter  him,"  said  he  to  a  free  negro  stand 
ing  by  his  side,  "  but  blame  me  if  they  cotch  up.  He 
is  over  a  hundred  miles  on  de  way.  Now 's  de  time 
to  know  how  much  nigger  am  worth." 

"  They  won't  cotch  him,  for  anoder  reason." 

"What's  dat?" 

"  Kase  Uncle  Tom  arn  not  fool  'nough  to  stick  to  big 
road.  He  will  shy  urn,  depend  on't." 


324r  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OB 

"  Do  n't  know  'bout  dat ;  I  advised  him  to  keep 
straight  on,  for  he  would  make  better  time  than  to 
take  crooked  paths." 

"  You — you  advised  Tom  !  Den  you  know'd  it,  hey? " 

"  Pshaw !  you  am  no  fool.  Would  n't  you  help  a 
brother  nigger,  if  you  was  applied  to  ? " 

"  O  yas.  I  was  only  glad  dat  I  know'd  urn ;  no 
harm  done." 

"  Now,  look  here,  ole  fellar !  you  guine  to  blab  ? 
kase  if  you  say  you  would,  I  '11  choke  you  right  on  de 
spot,"  said  the  hostler,  and  suiting  the  action  to  the 
word,  seized  hold  of  the  shirt  collar. 

"  JSTo,  no  ;  dis  child  will  not  expose  you.   Hands  off." 

At  this  juncture,  a  gentleman  advanced  in  years 
stopped  at  the  door  of  the  barn,  and  pretended  to  be 
engaged  reading  the  notice.  Abe  recognized  him,  and 
in  a  low  undertone  remarked,  "  Dat  am  mass'r  Ersk- 
ine,  or  I  misjudge.  Bless  my  stars,  how  gray  he  has 
grown  !  He  looks  twenty  years  older !  " 

"  Am  dat  individual  Tom's  master  ?  " 

u  Yas,  an'  he  is  comin'  in,  arter  he  reads  the  notice. 
Dar,  he  is  comin'  now ;  hold  your  tongue  —  I  '11  do  the 
talkin'." 

The  planter  walked  in,  to  see  what  he  could  learn. 

"  Good  day,  mass'r  Erskine,"  said  Abe. 

u  Ah!  you  know  me,  do  you?  " 

"  Of  course  I  do,  jist  as  well  as  I  know  myself." 

"I  entertained  hopes  of  finding  Tom  here,"  re 
marked  the  planter,  in  a  bland  voice. 

"  I  hab  seen  noffin  of  him ;  gone  in  some  oder 
direction." 


325 

"  You  and  he  were  such  good  friends,  I  did  not 
know  but  that  he  might  come  to  you  for  help,  and  be 
advised  to  return  home." 

"  No,  sir ;   noffin  of  de  kind." 

"  I  knew  well  enough  that  you  would  be  the  last 
person  to  encourage  him  to  run  away,"  continued  the 
planter,  as  if  he  had  the  utmost  confidence  in  the 
hostler's  sincerity. 

"  Tom  know'd  better  than  dat.     I  abide  de  law." 

"  So  I  am  aware  ;  hence,  you  had  the  enterprise 
and  honesty  to  work,  until  you  amassed  a  sum  suffi 
cient  to  l}uy  freedom,  and  not  cheat  your  master." 

"  Yes,  sir ;  I  am  my  own  man,  as  free  as  your  honor." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  and  that  is  the  best  passport  you 
can  have  to  the  society  of  the  sober-minded  and 
industrious." 

u  I  earned  um,  sir." 

"  Then  I  am  to  find  myself  mistaken ;  you  have  not 
seen  my  man  Tom  ?  " 

"  Not  at  all,  sir ,  he  took  some  oder  route." 

"  If  you  should  happen  to  see  him,  I  shall  feel  my 
self  much  obliged,  if  you  would  inform  me." 

"  Dat  I  can  safely  promise  to  do. 

"  How  you  hab  lied ! "  remarked  the  negro,  who 
was  listening  to  the  conversation,  to  Abe,  after  Mr. 
Erskine  had  gone  out  of  the  barn. 

"  Pooh  !  justifiable  —  perfectly  justifiable.  Do  you 
s'pose  dat  I  am  boun'  to  tell  all  I  knows,  at  any  time, 
an'  especially  now  ?  No,  nigger,  no." 

"Tom  is  foolish  to  leave  sich  a  master;  I  know'd 

he  is  a  kind  man,  from  his  talk." 
14* 


326  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  I  am  satisfied  of  one  thing." 

"Wha'dat?" 

"  They  think  Tom  hab  guine  northward.  I  'in  afeerd 
they  will  gib  him  hot  time.  I  believe  mass'r  Erskino 
mistrusts.  No  matter,  I  '11  keep  a  good  look  out." 

"Dunno." 

"  Can't  we  deceive  him  ?  Let  us  see  :  s'pose  you 
go  to  the  tavern,  an'  pretend  you  see  Tom  go  west,  on 
foot.  It  will  knock  urn ;  we  shall  hear  no  more  'bout 
ole  horse." 

"What  good  will  that  do?  The  two  gemmen  will 
ride  on;  it  will  make  no  difference." 

"  We  can  try  de  experiment ;  it  will  make  matters 
no  worse." 

"  No,  I  believe  not ;  I  do  n't  like  deception.  I  shall 
not  hoax  any  one  in  this  matter  —  too  serious." 

"Perfectly  justifiable;  I '11  do  it  myself,  then.  But, 
do  you  recollect,  no  blabbing!" 

"  Dat  I  '11  remember.  I  hope,  arter  all,  Tom  will 
get  free." 

"An'  you  will  not  lend  a  helping  hand?" 

"It's  none  of  my  business.  I  earn'd  mine;  all  of 
um  could,  if  they  war  not  so  confounded  lazy,  an1 
so  spendthrift  wid  what  money  they  do  git.  Depend 
on  't,  Abe,  de  road  you  and  I  took  to  get  to  freedom, 
am  de  only  honest  one.  Let  de  niggers  all  travel  same 
way  ;  it 's  open  to  all." 

Abe  shook  his  head  —  as  much  as  to  say,  he  and  his 
friend  were  exceptions  to  the  general  rule  —  and  as  he 
could  derive  no  consolation  or  encouragement  from  his 
companion,  dropped  the  conversation.  The  planter 


327 

went  back  to  his  room,  satisfied  that  the  hostler  knew 
more  than  he  was  willing  to  tell,  and  convinced  that 
he  had  adopted  wise  counsel  in  sending  Mr.  Gravity 
forward.  Possibly,  however,  his  slave's  hiding-place 
was  nearer  than  he  was  aware  of;  he  therefore  deter 
mined  to  use  discretion,  and  reconnoiter. 

In  the  meantime,  Uncle  Tom's  pursuers  were  not 
idle.  They  pressed  their  horses,  for  they  had  not 
passed  two  hours  on  the  road  before  they  began  to 
hear  of  him.  The  animal  he  rode  was,  beyond  a  doubt, 
the  identical  one  sold  by  the  citizen  to  the  hostler; 
and  as  for  the  negro  himself,  almost  everybody,  it 
seemed,  had  noticed  him — he  rode  so  awkwardly,  and 
made  such  untiring  efforts  to  hurry  his  beast.  They 
did  not  "put  up,"  when  night  came  on,  but  procuring 
fresh  horses,  kept  to  the  road. 

The  night  was  beautiful.  There  was  no  moon,  it  is 
true,  but  the  whole  firmament  appeared  to  be  one  vast 
milky-way  —  so  thick  and  brilliant  were  the  stars.  A 
gentle  breeze  crept  over  the  hills,  and  along  the  dales, 
divesting  the  evening  atmosphere  of  that  enervating 
influence  which  sometimes  succeeds  an  October  sun 
in  old  Virginia.  The  two  horsemen  were  passing 
through  a  rich  agricultural  region ;  the  valleys  skirted 
with  natural  groves,  and  the  high  hills,  and  loftier 
mountains,  covered  with  dense  forests.  The  ride  was 
interesting,  especially  to  Mr.  Gravity.  He  was  not 
much  of  a  traveler,  having,  for  the  most  of  his  life, 
confined  himself  close  to  the  plantation,  and  its  im 
mediate  vicinity.  His  views  were  not,  therefore,  as 
broad  and  comprehensive,  or  liberal,  aa  they  might 


328  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH;  OK 

have  been,  if  lie  had  seen  more  of  the  world.  The 
valley  of  the  Shenandoah,  to  his  mind,  was  about  the 
only  valley  worth  mentioning,  and  in  goodness  of 
climate  and  fertility  of  soil,  stood  unrivaled. 

But  now,  in  passing  along,  he  was  constantly  in  the 
midst  of  wide  fields  of  meadow,  corn,  wheat,  and  to 
bacco  land  ;  or  ascending  and  descending  low  hills, 
abounding  with  pastures,  full  of  thick,  heavy  feed,  and 
buildings,  abundant  and  well  constructed,  for  the  use 
of  both  man  and  beast.  Such  a  country  he  did  not 
expect  to  see,  and  therefore  viewed  it  with  more  inte 
rest  and  greater  pleasure.  lie  was  almost  glad  that 
Tom  had  run  away,  so  that  he  might  thus  enjoy  him 
self  in  the  pursuit. 

Just  at  dawn,  they  reached  the  turnpike  gate.  Upon 
instituting  the  usual  inquiry,  whether  a  strange  negro 
had  passed  that  way,  the  gate-tender  recapitulated 
what  transpired  the  day  before. 

"  Ah !  the  rascal  !  he  gave  his  name  correctly  the 
first  time,5'  remarked  the  citizen. 

"No  doubt  of  it,"  said  the  overseer. 

"  I  could  hardly  consent  to  pass  him  ;  but  what  could 
I  do?  He  had  the  document,  and  I  could  not  gainsay 
it,"  said  the  gate-tender. 

"How  did  the  horse  appear  to  endure  hard  riding?" 
inquired  the  citizen. 

"  All  in  a  foam,  and  quite  lank ;  he  puffed  like  a 
pair  of  bellows.  It  was  this  circumstance  more  than 
anything  else,  that  excited  my  suspicion." 

"He  did  not  get  far  last  night,  <T  ye  think?" 

*  The  inn  at  Swamp  Creek  holds  him  now,  I  reckon." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  329 

"  How  far  on  is  that  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Gravity. 

"We  call  it  ten  miles  —  rather  long." 

"  We  will  ride  there  to  breakfast,"  said  the  citizen ; 
and  putting  spurs  to  their  horses  they  passed  quickly 
under  the  gate,  and  started  off  at  a  full  gallop. 

The  sun  was  not  two  hours  high  when  the  pursuers 
reached  the  creek.  No  sooner  were  they  dismounted, 
than  they  inquired  if  the  negro  was  stopping  there,  or 
had  been  seen.  The  landlord  replied  in  the  negative ; 
and  upon  it  being  intimated  that  perhaps  he  was  dis 
posed  to  deceive,  he  asseverated,  upon  his  honor,  that 
no  such  person  had  passed  the  inn  to  his  knowledge. 
They  were  at  fault  what  to  do.  The  slave  would  not 
stop  at  a  private  house,  unless  that  of  an  acquaintance  ; 
and  he  could  have  none  in  that  region.  His  horse 
must  have  rest,  and  he  would  not  think  of  proceeding 
to  the  next  public  house  —  several  miles  ahead. 

"Mr.  Gravity,  we  must  eat,  and  bait,  and  consider. 
I  'm  afraid  we  are  getting  to  the  end  of  our  rope.  We 
have  had  a  good  stretch.  We  are  now  coming  to  close 
quarters,  or  I  am  no  judge.  I  believe  that  I  can 
almost  smell  the  critter ;  he  is  in  this  vicinity,  depend 
on  't,"  said  the  citizen. 

"  Well,  sir,  we  will  halt,  and  take  our  reckoning," 
replied  the  overseer;  and  at  once  ordered  the  neces 
sary  entertainment. 

"  I  will  take  a  walk  around  this  settlement,  and  see 
if  I  can  learn  anything.  Meanwhile,  you  question  the 
landlord,"  said  the  citizen. 

lie  went  into  a  low,  wooden  building  that  looked 
the  worse  for  wear,  from  the  ravages  of  wind,  rain, 


330  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

and  time.  It  was  partially  filled  with  candies,  a  box 
or  two  of  dried  herring,  hard-looking,  withered  raisins, 
and  there  lay  scattered  upon  the  shelves  a  few  papers 
of  tobacco,  and  a  dozen  or  so  of  pipes.  A  barrel,  from 
which  a  tapster  occasionally  drew  whiskey,  stood  in 
one  of  the  corners  of  the  room  ;  and  a  chest  of  tea, 
recently  opened,  was  under  the  counter.  A  lad,  some 
where  in  his  teens,  was  in  attendance,  to  wait  upon 
customers. 

"  My  boy,  can  yon  give  me  any  information,  if  I 
should  ask  you  ? "  said  the  citizen. 

"  I  will  be  arter  tellin'you  when  you  have  asked  it." 

"That 's  frank.  Have  you  seen  anybody  since  yes 
terday,  whom  you  did  n't  know?  " 

"That 's  hard  question,  mister;  to  speak  at  random, 
I  should  say  not,"  answered  the  lad,  with  an  air  of 
perfect  simplicity. 

"I  heard  that  a  large  buck  negro  stopped  or  passed 
through  this  burg  last  night  —  a  mighty  big  fellar, 
with  a  splendid  bay  horse;  did  you  see  him?  "said 
the  citizen,  as  naturally  as  if  he  told  the  truth. 

"  Oh !  no ;  that  's  not  so.  He  fell  from  his  horse 
before  he  got  here." 

"  Fell  from  his  horse  !  what  do  yon  mean,  my  boy  ? " 

44  Why,  they  say  an  unknown  black  was  thrown,  as 
he  was  riding  below  here  yesterday,  and — " 

"But  where  was  this?  "  asked  the  citizen,  before  the 
boy  had  time  to  finish  what  he  would  say. 

"  I  can  not  tell  you  exactly ;  't  was  this  side  of  the 
gate." 

"That's  the  fellar  I  wish  to  see;  he  is  a  runaway. 


331 

You  can't  inform  me  the  exact  place  where  he  met 
with  the  accident?" 

"  No,  mister ;  it  must  have  been  on  some  hill,  for 
they  said  the  horse  stumbled." 

"Ah !  and  fell  on  to  the  nigger;  I  see  how  it  was. 
Well,  let  me  think — there  is  a  long  slope  about  half 
way  from  here ;  I  suspect  that  was  the  place.  By  the 
way,  when  did  you  hear  the  news  ? " 

"Not  half  an  hour  ago.  Budd  Cramer  told  me, 
as  soon  as  he  got  his  grist  into  the  hopper.  He  lives 
down  the  road." 

"  Can  you  point  this  gentleman  out  to  me?  I  should 
like  to  put  him  some  questions.  He  can  tell  me  the 
exact  place." 

"  He  was  off  as  soon  as  his  grist  was  ground" 

"  Bad  luck  !     I  must  get  hold  of  the  nigger." 

"  No  trouble  to  do  that ;  he  is  under  the  turf  now, 
I  s'pect." 

"Dead?" 

"  Certainly;  I  thought  I  told  you  so.  Yes  ;  that  is 
so.  He  died  in  the  night ;  and  Budd  said  he  was  to 
be  buried  early,  for  he  was  mortifying  fast." 

"  Dead  and  buried  !  Well,  well ;  I  do  n't  see  but 
that  the  race  is  up.  Poor  fellar !  he  should  have 
stayed  at  home  ;  good  enough  for  him  —  a  just  punish 
ment!"  exclaimed  the  citizen;  and  returning  to  the 
inn,  informed  the  overseer  of  this  melancholy  intel 
ligence. 

Mr.  Gravity  agreed  with  the  citizen,  that  there 
could  be  no  doubt  of  the  information  being  reliable  — 
it  came  in  such  an  authentic  way  —  but  to  satisfy 


332  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

themselves  that  such  was  the  fact,  they  inquired  at 
most  every  house,  as  they  returned ;  and  finally,  after 
much  trouble,  saw  a  new-made  grave  in  an  adjoining" 
lot,  which  they  took  to  be  Uncle  Tom's.  They  alighted 
at  a  house  near  by,  and  were  informed  that  a  negro 
was  buried  there  that  morning.  This  was  enough  ;  and 
without  troubling  themselves  to  know  the  condition  of 
the  horse,  remounted  and  directed  their  course  home 
ward.  They  traveled  more  leisurely,  and  reached  the 
city  toward  dusk  of  the  next  day. 

Mr.  Erskine  saw  no  reason  to  doubt  the  accuracy  of 
the  overseer's  statement  arid  conclusion,  and  went 
home  to  Oakland,  regretting  the  loss  of  his  property, 
and  sorry  that  the  slave  had  hurried  himself  so  thought 
lessly  into  eternity.  lie  broke  the  mournful  tidings  to 
Dinah,  as  gently  as  the  circumstances  would  admit  of. 
But  there  were  no  bounds  to  her  lamentation ;  she 
blamed  herself  for  consenting  to  the  escape ;  and  for 
months  this,  with  all  the  particulars,  constituted  the 
theme  of  her  conversation.  The  people  at  the  quar 
ters  condoled  with  her ;  the  overseer  was  attentive  to 
her  wants  ;  Mary  was  more  frequently  at  the  cabin  ; 
and  all  pitied  the  lamentable  fate  of  poor  Tom. 


333 


CHAPTER  XXIV. 

BUFFALO THE  BOOT-BLACK. 

"  Long  sought !  and  found  in  vain 
In  sunshine  have  I  sought  thee,  and  in  shade." 

SAMOR. 

It  has  been  sublimely  said,  "'t  is  distance  lends  en 
chantment  to  the  view."  Hope  —  the  mighty  incen 
tive  of  all  human  effort' — can  not  exist  of  itself.  That 
which  begets  a  wish  or  desire  for  some  good,  must  also, 
at  the  same  time,  present  it  in  such  an  attitude  as  to 
produce  an  expectation  or  belief,  no  matter  how  slight, 
of  obtaining  it,  in  order  to  create  hope.  And  when  this 
mainspring  of  the  soul  is  once  touched,  its  resilience  is 
constant,  and  sometimes  almost  seems  to  be  impelled 
by  a  supernatural  power.  Hence,  the  greater  the 
effort,  the  more  poignant  the  disappointment,  if  not 
attained.  That  the  object,  when  reached,  is  ever  pre 
cisely  what,  in  a  distant  view,  it  may  have  appeared 
to  be,  no  one  will  venture  to  assert ;  and  the  failure  of 
expectation  will  be  proportionate,  and  the  mind  sur 
prised  and  inclined  to  be  downcast.  But,  if  this  attrac 
tive  star  of  hope  shoots  suddenly  into  nonentity,  when 


334:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

approached,  and  oblivion,  like  a  pall,  mantles  the 
vision,  then  indeed  the  soul  sickens,  the  journey  of  life 
looks  dismal,  and,  if  not  well  grounded  in  the  faith,  we 
look  upon  heaven  as  a  chimera  and  hell  as  a  bugbear, 
and  are  ready  to  exclaim,  "  what  shadows  we  are,  what 
shadows  do  we  pursue  !  " 

We  will  not  aver  that  this  was  the  condition  of  mind 
in  which  Uncle  Tom  found  himself,  some  three  years 
after  he  fell  from  his  horse,  on  the  high  road  from 
Winchester  to  Harper's  Ferry.  He  was  left  for  dead, 
by  his  pursuers,  and  such  we  supposed  to  be  the  fact, 
until  we  learned  to  the  contrary.  But  what  his  precise 
condition  then  was,  and  whether  he  ever  arrived  at 
that  "state  of  freedom,"  which  he  set  out  to  reach,  the 
reader  will  learn  in  the  sequel. 

Suffice  it  to  say,  that  upwards  of  three  years  after 
the  events  mentioned  in  the  preceding  chapter,  in  the 
edge  of  a  hot  evening  in  the  month  of  August,  a  gen 
tleman  rode  up  to  a  house  of  public  entertainment,  in 
a  retired  little  village,  not  far  from  the  river  Niagara, 
known  by  the  name  of  Saint  Davids.  This  hamlet  — 
never  very  noisy,  and  its  citizens  usually  very  sedate  — 
was  uncommonly  so  on  the  evening  in  question. 

]S^o  person  was  visible  about  the  public  house;  a 
large  dog  lay  on  the  stoop,  half  asleep ;  but  the  tramp 
ing  of  the  horse  aroused  him  from  his  lethargy,  and 
after  considerable  effort  he  rose  up,  although  not  u  upon 
all  fours,"  for  he  was  too  lazy  to  do  that.  The  door 
was  wide  open,  but  no  host  in  attendance,  save  Jowler, 
to  welcome  the  guest.  The  posts  designed  to  support 
the  roof  of  the  stoop  seemed  to  be  tired  of  their  position, 


335 

and  were  quietly  but  unceasingly  at  work  to  get  away; 
for  their  tenons,  and  the  mortices  with  which  they  had 
been  in  close  companionship  for  years,  had  rotted  out 
and  silently  taken  their  departure;  the  small  doors 
that  were  used  as  barricades  to  the  windows,  stood  ajar 
and  dangled  upon  their  rusty  hinges;  the  sign,  which 
hung  from  a  joist  nailed  to  one  of  the  posts,  was  almost 
illegible,  so  much  battered  was  it  by  the  weather;  and 
many  a  clapboard  on  the  exterior  of  the  main  building 
had  parted  company  from  its  fellow,  and  those  which 
still  remained  appeared  lonesome  and  anxious  to  be 
on  the  move. 

"Halloo!  halloo,  here!"  vociferated  the  traveler, 
retaining  his  seat  in  the  saddle,  for  he  did  not  care 
about  having  a  personal  rencounter  with  the  dog  — 
although  he  wagged  his  tail  as  if  he  was  glad  to  see 
the  stranger. 

There  was  no  response,  and  no  stir  inside. 

"I  say — halloo  there,  I  say ! "  again  shouted  the 
traveler;  "are  you  all  dead  here?  halloo,  the  land 
lord  ! " 

The  air  was  so  still  that  this  summons  could  be  heard 
all  over  the  village.  As  no  one  came  out  on  to  the 
stoop,  Jowler  considered  it  his  duty  to  attend  to  the 
call  so  earnestly  made,  and  began  to  growl  and  bark. 

"  Get  out  of  the  way,  and  let  a  friend  pass,1'  said 
the  traveler,  "  or  I  '11  give  you  the  benefit  of  my  riding 
whip." 

This  language  did  not  suit  the  notions  of  Jowler, 
and  he  at  once  bristled  up,  and  barked  louder  and 
sharper  than  before. 


336  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  Confound  your  impertinence  !  Well,  bark  then  — 
bark  away.  Perhaps  your  throat  will  be  more  effec 
tive  than  mine ;  I  have  barked  some  myself,  from  first 
to  last,  and  at  times,  perhaps,  with  as  little  cause  as  you 
now  have.  That 's  right  now  ;  bark  loud  and  strong," 
said  the  traveler ;  and  settled  back  into  his  seat, 

It  was  not  long  before  he  heard  a  rustling  inside ; 
the  dog's  noise  produced  the  desired  effect.  A  black 
man  soon  stood  in  the  doorway,  rubbing  his  eyes.  He 
was  scantily  dressed,  although  he  did  not  appear  to 
have  been  abed.  He  had  on  a  pair  of  pantaloons 
made  out  of  towcloth,  much  soiled  with  dirt;  an  old, 
tattered  satin  vest  — the  pocket  linings  having  worn 
through,  and  hanging  out  conspicuously;  a  hat  made 
out  of  very  coarse  straw,  and  saturated  pretty  much 
all  over  with  perspiration  —  that  is  to  say,  what  was 
left  of  it  as  originally  made,  for  the  rim  was  gone, 
except  a  small  piece  directly  over  the  eyes  as -it  was 
now  worn,  and  the  top  was  entirely  gone— and  a  thick, 
red  flannel  shirt,  with  the  sleeves  rolled  up  to  the 
elbows. 

"  Cuffy,  is  that  you  ? "  inquired  the  traveler. 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  A  good  while  coming !  " 

"Dunno." 

"  Are  you  the  landlord  here?  " 

"  What  will  you  have  ?  " 

"  I  did  think  of  tarrying  here  to-night,  and  halted 
for  that  purpose ;  but  you  are  all  so  dull  and  slow,  I 
have  almost  changed  my  mind.  What 's  the  distance 


337 

"  I  s'pose  dey  call  um  seven  or  eight  miles." 
"  Oh  !  heyday !  I  am  too  fatigued  to  ride  that  dis 
tance  ;  I  must  hold  to  my  first  purpose,  and  stop  with 
you.     Good  quarters  for  the  beast,  I  hope?" 

"  Turn  um  into  the  lot ;  I  reckon  he  can  crop  it  a 
little  —  hard  an'  drv,  though." 

•/  7  O 

"Ah !  that  will  not  do;  take  him  to  the  barn,  and 
give  him  a  good  measure  of  oats." 

The  black  man  shook  his  head. 

"What !  no  oats  ?  Well,  then,  feed  the  animal  with 
some  corn." 

"  I  hab  not  seen  an  oat  nor  a  kernel  dis  long  time  ; 
I  am  eenymost  dead  for  hoecake  myself;  can't  gib 
um  dat." 

"You  have  no  provender!  I  advise  you  to  take 
down  your  sign." 

"  The  road  is  open  to  all,  sir ;  you  are  not  compelled 
to  stop,"  replied  the  black  man,  with  considerable 
spunk. 

"Polite — that  is  very  polite;  if  your  master  is 
equally  so,  hospitality  under  this  roof  must  be  any 
thing  but  agreeable." 

"  Oh !  I  am  sorry  to  offend,  sir ;  I  merely  meant  to 
say  that  you  was  not  obleeged  to  stop,  if  you  did  see 
de  sign;  dat  's  all.  You  can  have  what  the  house 
affords,"  responded  the  black,  in  a  meeker  voice. 

"  Very  good ;  I  suppose  I  must  make  the  most  of 
it.  Put  out  the  horse,  and  give  him  to  eat  of  the  best 
you  have,"  said  the  traveler;  and  dismounting,  the 
black  man  lead  the  beast  to  the  stable. 

The  traveler  took  a  survey  of  the  inside  of  the  house ; 


338  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

it  was  the  counterpart  of  the  exterior.  The  floors 
looked  as  though  they  had  not  seen  water  for  months, 
or  the  scrubbing-broom  or  mop  for  years  ;  the  decan 
ters  and  glasses  in  the  bar  were  specked  with  dirt ;  the 
plaster  in  the  ceiling,  and  on  the  walls,  was  cracked 
and  broken,  and  what  remained  looked  as  if  every 
moment  it  was  about  to  fall ;  the  wainscot  was  cut. 
marked,  and  hacked  in  a  variety  of  ways,  and  proba 
bly  once  had  a  coat  of  paint,  but  now  so  dim,  difficult 
to  see ;  a  broken  chair  or  two,  and  a  rickety  old  table, 
with  an  article  called  a  bunk,  for  the  negro  to  repose 
in,  about  comprised  the  furniture  of  the  public  room. 
He  opened  a  door  which  conducted  out  of  this  place 
toward  the  rear  of  the  building,  and  discovered  a  room 
used  as  a  sitting  and  dining-room.  lie  walked  into  it. 
There  was  a  carpet  lying  upon  most  of  the  floor,  but 
so  full  of  dirt  that  it  grated  his  shoes,  as  he  gently 
stepped  across  the  room ;  a  segment  of  what,  in  the 
day  of  its  prime,  might  have  been  called  a  mirror, 
hung  over  a  table  placed  between  two  windows;  there 
was  a  small  book  directly  under  the  glass,  which  he 
found,  upon  opening,  was  the  holy  bible.  This  dis 
covery  tended  to  soothe  his  ruffled  temper,  notwith 
standing  everything  else  which  his  eyes  fell  upon, 
looked  dingy  and  uninviting.  He  saw  no  person,  nor 
heard  the  footstep  or  voice  of  any  one,  until  the  negro 
came  in  from  the  barn, 

"  You  are  not  keeping  tavern  alone,  arc  you? "  asked 
the  traveler  of  the  negro. 

"They  have  gone  from  home  now  —  all  but  the 
cook." 


339 

"  Thank  fortune!  I  want  Nothing  to  eat,"  thought  he 
to  himself. 

"  Well,  you  have  stabled  the  animal,  have  you  ?  " 

"Yas,  mass'r;  all  right  —  cut  some  grass,  and  give 
him  plenty." 

"  You  are  not  troubled  with  guests  very  often,  I 
take  it." 

u  Oh  !  yes  ;  plenty  for  me  to  do ;  up  early  and  late." 

"  Light  work  —  light  work,  I  expect." 

"  Light  work !  give  me  de  ole  cabin  to  this  situation. 
There  is  no  rest  here ;  up  at  all  times  o'  night." 

"  Good  pay,  though.     How  long  you  been  here?" 

"Since  spring." 

"  I  should  n't  think  it  was  very  hard.  I  do  n't  see 
why  you  should  have  customers,  you  are  so  short  of 
the  comforts  for  both  man  and  beast ;  you  was  so  hard 
to  arouse,  I  was  on  the  point  of  proceeding  on." 

u  Excuse  dat ;  I  must  have  been  in  a  snooze  ;  I  at 
tended  to  your  call  as  soon  as  I  heard  it.  For  de  Lor's 
sake!  do  n't  tell  the  old  man,  if  he  gets  home  afore  you 
go ;  if  you  do,  I  can  not  tell  what  will  become  of  me." 

""Why,  you  are  an  able-bodied  man,  and  can  easily 
earn  your  livelihood.  I  do  n't  see  why  you  should  be 
so  sensitive  of  being  discharged ;  from  your  appear 
ance,  I  should  not  suppose  your  wages  could  be  any 
very  great  inducement  for  you  to  desire  to  remain 
here." 

"  Lor'  bless  you,  sir,  you  do  n't  know  what  we  poor 
people  endure ;  you  rich  folks  can't  begin  to  dream  of 
our  troubles.  I  hab  neber  seen  so  much  misery  as 
during  the  last  three  years." 


340  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

X 

Fudge !  Cuffy ,  you,  and  such  like,  can  not  have  so 
much  trouble.  What  annoys  you  ?  nobody  but  yourself 
to  provide  for ;  no  wife,  I  presume  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  God  bless  you,  sir,  do  n't  mention  dat! "  ex 
claimed  the  negro,  with  a  deep,  long  drawn  sigh. 

"  Ah !  some  domestic  trouble.  Parted  with  some 
Nelly,  eh?"  said  the  traveler;  and  before  the  words 
were  scarcely  out  of  his  mouth,  the  negro  was  upon 
his  knees,  both  hands  upon  his  breast,  his  eyes  cast 
upward,  and  his  lips  moving,  evidently  in  deep  grief. 
The  traveler  looked  at  him  a  moment,  in  utter  aston 
ishment.  But  the  attitude  of  the  negro,  with  the  time 
and  place,  and  his  personal  appearance — all  together, 
made  the  scene  ludicrous,  and  the  stranger  was  more 
inclined  to  mirth  than  sorrow. 

"  If  the  tavern-keeper  discharges  you,  Cuffy,  there 
is  one  thing  you  can  do,"  said  he. 

"  Wha'  dat  ? "  said  the  negro,  dropping  his  hands 
by  his  side,  and  rising  from  the  floor. 

"  You  can  go  on  to  the  stage  and  play  tragedy.  I 
have  no  doubt  but  that  you  was  born  for  the  sock  and 
buskin." 

"  Oh  !  my  heart  is  sore — berry  sore,  mass'r." 

"  All  have  their  troubles,  and  you  look  as  if  you 
had  seen  a  good  many  years.  I  suppose  you  have  had 
your  share  of  ills." 

"  Dunno  ;  I  have  enough.  I  am  disappointed,  and 
there  is  no  peace  for  me." 

"Pshaw!  who,  pray,  has  not  been  disappointed? 
You  could  not  appreciate  the  good,  if  you  did  not 
occasionally  have  a  share  of  the  bad.  Poverty  is 


UNCLE   TOM'S   CABIS   AS   IT   13. 

unpleasant,  and  labor  sometimes  seems  to  be  still  more 
so.  The  former  may  produce  sorrow,  but  the  latter 
nuver  should.  Whoever  obeys  the  laws  of  his  country 
ought  to  be  allowed  a  serene  mind,  whatever  his  lot. 
You  are  poor,  and  are  compelled  to  drudge ;  but  you 
should  harmonize  your  feelings  to  it,  then  you  will  not 
get  into  such  flighty  moods.  I  suspect  laziness,  Cuffy, 
is  your  disease.  I  do  n't  know  as  you  are  to  be  blamed 
for  it,  though,  for  I  never  knew  a  nigger  that  would  n't 
be  so." 

"  That 's  not  my  case,  sir.  No  matter  what  I  do,  I 
can  not  help  alwars  thinkin'  of  vvhar' I  come  from; 
an'  first  I  know,  I  stop  my  work." 

It  occurred  to  the  traveler,  that  perhaps  he  had 
actually  stumbled  upon  a  fugitive  slave ;  and  as  he 
took  a  deep  interest  in  that  class  of  persons,  and  their 
humble  condition  had  his  warmest  sympathy,  he  might 
now  have  a  good  opportunity  to  learn  something  to 
his  own  advantage.  Instead,  therefore,  of  asking  for 
a  candle  to  light  the  way  to  bed,  he  continued  the 
conversation : 

"  Cuffy,  you  have  lived  here  in  Canada  from  your 
youth  up,  have  you  not  ?  " 

"O  no,  sir;  it  is  now  guine  on  three  years  since  I 
first  set  my  foot  in  dis  land  of  freedom.15 

"Ah  !  are  you  what  is  called  a  fugitive  ?  " 

"Yas,  I  run  away;  and  almost  dead,  I  reached 
here." 

"  And  did  you  not  find  it  as  you  expected  ? " 

"Oh!  mass'r,  no  ;  nothin"1 — iiothin"  as  I  expected 

to  seed  um." 

15 


31-3  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

"Have  yon  worked,  been  economical,  laid  up  your 
wages?"  inquired  the  traveler;  for,  as  they  were 
alone,  and  no  person  would  see  his  inquisitiveness,  or 
hear  the  answers,  he  might  as  well  ask  all  the  ques 
tions  that  occurred  to  his  mind. 

"Yas;  dis  nigger  has  worked  wheneber  lie  could 
find  an  opportunity;  but  it  has  taken  all  I  could  earn 
to  pay  my  expenses.  My  clothes  are  not  now  as  good 
as  I  had  when  I  left  the  plantation.7' 

"Why,  pray,  what  did  you  have?  I  suppose  you 
merely  had  enough  to  cover  you.'1  remarked  the  tray- 

«/  O  */  f 

eler. 

"A  good  white  shirt,  and  suit,  of  coat,  pantaloon?, 
and  vest;  an'  the  saddle-bags  full — lull  of  everything 
useful.  ]N"ow,  you  sees  wid  your  own  eyes  all  I  pos 
sess,  excepting  one  red  shirt,  the  mate  to  this.'' 

"That  's  queer!  I  thought  the  slaves  were  a  very 
poor  class  —  ragged,  and  poorly  fed." 

"•Poorly  fed!     I  alwars  had  my  cabin  full  of  good 

«/  i/  O 

things;  and  my  wife  —  oh!  bless  her  good  soul  —  al 
wars  thar  to  smile,  talk,  an'  sing-  Oh  !  what  a  fool  was 
I  to  come  away.  She  advised  me  not  to  come  —  she 
said,  stay  and  be  content.  But  I  had  heard  so  much 
of  this  land,  my  feelin's  made  me  come.  I  am  sorry 
that  I  ever  saw  that  evil  day." 

"  How  did  you  get  here  ?  " 

"Too  long  story,  mass'r." 

"You  did  not  foot  it  the  whole  distance,  did  you?1' 

"  Oh  !  I  rode  some  —  come  all  sorts  of  ways  ;    was 
very  near  being  snapped  up  —  wished  I  had  been  — 
should  n't  laid  in  dat  ole  bunk,  and  be  eat  up  by  flons 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  343 

and  bugs.  I  can't  bear  to  think  on't.  Too  bad  —  it 's 
too  bad." 

"You  chanced  to  come  directly  here,  then?"  asked 
the  traveler,  surprised  at  the  negro's  talk. 

"  O  Lor1  de  massy,  no  !  I  went  across  on  the  islands 
of  that  big  river  away  below  here,  and  stopped  at 
Kingston." 

"That's  a  long  distance  from  this  place,"  said  the 
traveler;  and  at  the  same  time  shaking  his  head,  in 
doubt  whether  the  negro  was  not  talking  merely  to 
entertain  him. 

"  I  reckon  I  knows  dat ;  I  tried  the  road  to  my  satis 
faction,"  said  the  negro,  not  caring  whether  the  stranger 
believed  his  story  or  not. 

"  How  on  earth  did  you  contrive  to  reach  this  vil 
lage  ? " 

"  I  worked  my  way  along  up,  begging  what  I  could, 
till  I  got  to  Toronto ;  dar'  I  stopped,  and  arter  wTalkin' 
'bout  the  streets  for  days,  trying  to  find  mass'r  Bates — • 
blast  him!  —  I  give  it  up,  and  found  some  work.  It 
did  n't  agree  wid  my  disposition,  and  so  I  left,  to  see 
what  I  could  do  in  the  country.  I  hired  out  to  the 
Judge,  and  help'd  keep  tavern  here  eber  since." 

"  What  do  they  call  your  name?  As  you  are  safe 
here  from  recapture,  there  is  no  harm  in  divulging 
that." 

"  Tom  is  my  name,  from  Ole  Yirginny." 

"  "\Vell,  with  a  more  eligible  situation,  probably  you 
could  earn  more  money  with  half  the  labor." 

"  1  am  disgusted  with  work  in  these  northern  lati 
tudes  ;  but  I  must  do  it  even  to  live." 


LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"Now,  my  good  fellow,  let  me  tell  yon,  if  you  were 
attending  to  the  same  line  of  business,  in  some  other 
place,  you  could  do  better.  This  is  a  poor  place—  a 
poor  tavern — a  poor  landlord,  I  presume  ;  and  I  should 
suppose  that  all  concerned  would  be  poor.  You  must 
try  some  other  place." 

"  Whar',  mass'H" 

"  In  the  States." 

"Oh!  I  could  n't  do  that — liable  to  be  taken  back 
into  slavery,  if  I  stop  dare." 

"But,  you  just  said  that  you  wished  yourself  back 
to  the  plantation  ;  so,  if  you  should  happen  to  be  found 
out  bty  your  owner,  you  would  be  better  satisfied  than 
to  stay  here.  Besides,  you  might  stop  in  some  of  the 
frontier  towns,  and  if  you  became  alarmed  for  your 
freedom,  you  might  quietly  step  over  to  Canada  until 
the  danger  was  over." 

"  Thank 'e;  I  believe  I  '11  try  it.  Whar'  would 
you  advise  rne  to  go?" 

"  Buffalo  is  the  tallest  place  along  the  line,  in 
my  opinion;  plenty  of  work  there.  Try  it ;  you  can't 
be  worse  off.  Good  society,  plenty  of  blacks ;  one  or 
two  churches  in  which  they  worship," 

"  Do  you  live  in  that  town  ?  " 

%'In  no  other;  and  I  would  not  live  in  any  other,  if 
I  had  my  own  will." 

"  Please,  mass'r,  tell  me  your  name." 

"  Certainly ;  Allgood  is  my  name.  If  you  come 
there,  find  rne  out,  by  all  means." 

"I  believe  I  will  try  your  advice ;  an'  I  shall  tell 
the  Judge  my  intention,  as  soon  as  he  gits  home." 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  345 

"Your  engagement  is  not  for  any  specified  time, 
is  it?" 

"I  reckon  not." 

"You  did  n't  agree  to  work  any  longer  than  you 
pleased,  I  take  it." 

"I  reckon  not;  I  think  nothin'  said  'bout  dat." 

"  If  I  could  see  him,  I  would  urge  him  to  let  you 
off,  in  any  event.  By  the  way,  when  is  he  expected  ?  " 

"  lie  left  day  before  yesterday,  and  said  he  should 
be  home  in  two  or  three  days.  It's  uncertain,  I 
reckon." 

"Where  has  he  gone  —  far  away?"  inquired  the 
traveler,  who  began  to  take  a  deep  interest  in  the  wel 
fare  of  the  negro. 

"To  Buffalo ;  there  is  a  convention  being  held  in 
that  town  for  the  benefit  of  the  colored  man.  Mr. 
Brown  is  one  of  the  leading  men,  and  must  be  thar'." 

"  Ah  !  I  understand  ;  you  are  with  your  friends  now." 

"Yas,  sir." 

"  Well,  after  all,  I  still  think  you  would  improve 
your  condition,  if  you  adopt  my  advice." 

"  I  know'd  it,  mass'r." 

"  You  can  show  me  up  to  my  lodging  chamber. 
Perhaps  I  may  see  him  in  the  morning." 

The  negro  went  up  a  narrow  flight  of  stairs,  and 
told  the  traveler  to  follow. 

"I  have  a  hot  night  before  me,"  said  the  stranger, 
as  he  entered  the  apartment;  "hoist  that  window, 
Cnffy,  or  Tom,  I  would  say;  let  me  have  the  benefit 
of  all  the  openings,  for  God's  sake !  It  feels  like  an 
oven  here." 


346  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"Keep  yonr  temper,  mass'r;  no  fire  here,  and  the 
night  air  will  git  in  afore  daybreak,  I  '11  warrant  ye," 
said  the  negro,  with  imperturbable  calmness. 

"Tom,  clean  off  the  horse  early,  for  I  must  ride  to 
the  next  inn  for  my  breakfast;  I  can  not  think  of  eat 
ing  here.  In  fact,  I  presume  you  have  nothing  but 
dirt  to  feed  upon." 

"  Yas,  mass'r,"  replied  the  negro ;  and  went  down 
into  the  bar-room. 

The  advice  to  change  quarters  was  uppermost  in 
Tnn's  mind,  and  he  vowed  to  be  off  the  first  opportunity. 
His  condition,  he  thought,  could  not  be  changed  for 
the  worse.  He  told  Jowler  to  keep  watch  on  the  stoop, 
locked  the  door,  and  turned  into  his  bunk. 

The  traveler  was  restless  and  uneasy.  If  he  got  into 
a  doziness,  the  inclination  was  more  to  dreaming  than 
to  sleep;  and  slavery,  and  how  its  victims,  if  per 
chance  they  escaped,  in  nine  cases  out  of  ten,  only  got 
out  of  one  fire  to  be  presently  in  another,  were  the 
principal  features  of  his  thoughts.  He  rolled,  tum 
bled,  and  tossed,  and  wished  the  tavern-keeper  all 
sorts  of  destiny,  for  attending  to  other  people's  business 
and  not  his  own. 

"His  wife,  of  course,  has  gone  with  him  to  the  con 
vention,  and  why  should  n't  the  bed  be  filled  with  ver 
min,  and  the  sheets  unfit  even  for  Tom  to  lay  in?  I 
ought  to  have  known  better  than  to  put  up  at  such  a 
place.  But  I  have  met  Mr.  Brown  frequently,  and 
really  thought  the  accommodations,  although  plain, 
would  be  comfortable  at  least.  It  is  always  so;  I 
never  knew  it  to  fail.  Let  a  woman  make  up  her 


TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.  31? 

mind  to  appear  in  public,  and  she  is  never  at  home; 
eternally  looks  out,  and  never  looks  in.  Confound  that 
flea!  It 's  too  dark  to  stick  a  pin  in  it.  There  comes 
that  long-bill  musketo!  Well,  Mrs.  Brown  is  not 
responsible  for  that  nuisance.  I'll  give  her  a  quit 
claim  of  that  pest.  How  infernal  hot!  I  wonder  if 
Brown  thinks  of  anything  else  but  niggers?" 

These  and  similar  thoughts  disturbed  the  traveler's 
mind  until  break  of  day.  He  lost  no  time,  as  soon  as 
there  was  light  enough  to  see  his  clothes;  he  hurried 
off  from  the  inn,  glad  to  be  relieved  of  the  sight  of  it. 
As  he  inhaled  the  morning  air,  he  felt  refreshed,  his 
mind  reanimated,  and  his  thoughts  more  tranquil.  He 
•wondered  if  he  did.  in  fact,  stay  at  the  inn  in  Saint 
Davids,  It  could  hardly  be  possible  that  he  experi 
enced  all  those  torments.  Xothing  but  a  dream.  Tiie 
back  of  his  hand  itched  —  pained  him.  He  looked  at 
it,  and  there  were  the  red  spots  and  rising  pimples. 
The  night,  —  room  —  bed — -it  was  all  reality;  he  could 
not  be  mistaken.  He  thought  the  time  was  distant, 
before  he  should  be  caught  in  such  lodgings  again. 

Tom  was  dragged  out  of  his  bunk  earlier  than  usual. 
As  the  traveler  rode  away  from  the  stoop,  he  crawled 
back  to  his  quarters  to  finish  his  rest.  The  outside 
door  which  opened  into  the  bar-room,  he  again  bolted, 
BO  that  no  interloper  should  disturb  his  repose. 

The  warm,  close  atmosphere  was  fetid.  This  Tom 
did  not  notice  until  he  lay  down.  He  waited  upon  the 
traveler  long  enough  to  fill  his  lungs  with  fresh  air. 
The  pure  now  came  in  contact  with  the  impure.  The 
stomach  nauseated.  This  sensation  was  past  endurance; 


34:8  LIFE    AT    THE   SOUTH;    OR 

he  jumped  out  of  the  bunk,  hoisted  the  window,  and 
opened  the  door.  The  currents  of  new  air  circulated 
swiftly  over  the  room,  driving  the  old  to  the  ceiling. 
His  feelings  were  more  agreeable,  and  now  he  might 
have  a  good  snooze,  he  thought.  lie  threw  himself 
once  more  into  the  bunk.  The  old,  tattered  coverlet  — 
the  stripped  pillow,  yellow  most  all  over  with  stains  — 
something  out  of  sorts  with  them  ;  smelt  differently. 
He  had  not  noticed  this  before.  A  mere  whim  —  it 
should  n't  disturb  him.  "  He  was  guine  to  take  a  nap 
anykow."  He  turned  over  toward  the  window,  so  that 
his  nostrils  and  mouth  might  catch  all  the  fresh  air. 
It  made  no  difference.  The  musty,  unpleasant  odor  of 
the  coverlet  and  pillow  neutralized  and  overpowered  the 
fragrance  of  the  woods,  fields,  and  gardens.  He  nes 
tled,  got  up,  and  went  to  the  door  ;  he  was  wide  awake. 
He  was  vexed,  and  had  lost  all  disposition  to  sleep. 

"Confound  this  hole!  I  can't  stand  it;  Mr.  Brown 
must  let  me  go.  I  have  had  enough  of  freedom  ;  I 
will  take  the  advice  of  mass'r  Allgood,  and  try  the 
States.  If  massa  comes  arter  me,  I  can  hide  —  plenty 
of  places,"  muttered  Tom  to  himself.  He  slammed 
the  doors,  and  banged  about  the  premises.  The  cook 
awoke  before  the  usual  hour,  but  could  not  endure  the 
racket,  and  so  she  got  up.  Sour  and  cross,  she  did  not 
half  fry  the  slice  or  two  of  pork  which  she  had  thrown 
into  the  spider — brine  and  all;  the  water  in  the  pot 
did  not  boil  long  enough  to  make  much  impression 
upon  the  young,  tender  potatoes;  the  tablecloth  was 
stiff  with  grease  and  butter;  and  the  onions  were 
served  up  — tops,  roots,  and  dirt. 


349 

u  Kitty,  if  my  teeth  war  n't  strong  an'  sharp,  I  'd  gib 
um  up.  The  taters  are  tough,  and  this  pork  mighty 
gritty  —  hasn't  seen  water,  I  reckon,  since  last  fall," 
remarked  Tom,  endeavoring  to  satisfy  hunger  from  the 
eatables  which  the  cook  placed  upon  the  table. 

"There,  don't  be  over  nice.  I  guess  if  you  was  so 
hungry  you  could  n't  lay  abed  reasonably,  you  won't 
starve  on  that,"  replied  Kitty,  throwing  back  her  head 
and  helping  herself  as  best  she  might. 

"Pout  away;  I  shan't  trouble  you  much  longer. 
I'm  guine  to  quit  Saint  Davids.  I  can't — I  won't 
stand  dis  kind  of  living  eenymore,"  remarked  the 
negro,  with  indifference. 

"  You  are  going  to  leave  Mr.  Brown  !  Well,  per 
haps  you  will ;  I  shall  believe  it  when  I  see  you  bid 
good-bye." 

"  Such  am  the  fact.  Mr.  Allgood  assured  me  I 
could  do  better  elsewhere.5' 

"  Mr.  Allgood  !  whose  acquaintance  have  you  made 
now?" 

"  The  traveler  what  put  up  here  last  night." 

"  Nonsense  !  Good  to  nobody  but  himself,  I  guess. 
You  niggers  make  wonderful  big  plans,  but  generally 
take  it  all  out  in  that." 

"Ha!  ha!  ha!  That 's  downright  slander.  Wall, 
rail  away.  I  'in  proud  of  de  color'd  race..  We  know 
our  rights,  and  mean  to  have  them.  Mr.  Brown  says 
we  have  been  downtrodden  Ions:  enough.  Them 's 

O  r? 

my   sentiments,    most   distinctly.     The  white   people 
should  n't  be  so  envious." 

"  I  guess  you  get  your  rights  fast  enough  ;  and  if  all  I 


350  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OB 

hear  be  true,  you  sometimes  get  more.  I  do  n't  know 
why  you  should  n't  work  as  well  as  our  kind  of  folks.'' 

"  Work,  Kitty  ;  does  n't  dis  nigger  work  ?  I  am  con 
stantly  at  labor,  day  in  and  day  out.  You  knuw'd 
that;  now,  jist  for  once,  admit  the  truth." 

''You  work,  Tom  ?  Why,  you  are  so  lazy  you  can't 
half  the  time  stand  up  straight;  and  you  don't  do 
nothin'  when  you  seem  to  try.  Xo  wonder  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine  don't  take  the  trouble  to  follow  you  ;  and  if  you 
are  a  fair  sample,  I  should  suppose  that  he  would  be 
glad  to  have  the  rest  run  away  ;  1  am  sure  I  should." 

"  I  alwars  knowM  you  was  envious,  Kitty.  .Never 
mind  ;  you  poor  white  folks  have  all  our  sympathies. 
Ko  real  full-blooded  nigger  will  overlook  you,  nor 
tread  upon  you;  my  kind  will  alwars  treat  you  right, 
depend  on  't.  Now  don't  take  on  so,  ebery  time  von 
hear  the  subject  discussed.  Your  turn  will  come  some 
day  or  other." 

"  Pshaw  !  I  guess  I  can  take  care  of  myself.  Where 
are  you  going,  Tom  ?  " 

"  To  Buffalo." 

"  Buffalo  ? " 

"  Yas,  to  de  big  city  of  Buffalo.  I  am  guine  to  try 
my  fortune  there  ;  the  color'd  people  do  well  in  that 
town." 

"  It  may  be  so  ;  but  if  you  do  n't  starye,  I  shall  be 
mistaken." 

"You  knows  nothing  about  it;  color'd  people  Lave 
Louses  and  lands  of  their  own,  and  plenty  of 
money." 

"They   work,  though,  and  lay  up  what  they  git; 


Sol 

yon  are  too  indolent  to  do  the  one,  and  it  isn't  in  von 
to  do  the  other." 

"  There  is  no  use  of  my  talkin',  you  are  so  envious ; 
come  up  there  some  time,  and  I  will  show  you  ;  I  will 
treat  you  well.  Oh !  I  shan't  be  ashamed  of  you,  if 
you  do  now  turn  up  your  nose  at  me ;  be  sure  and 
come,  Kitty.  It  will  only  cost  a  trifle,  at  the  most;  if 
you  git  out  of  change,  I  will  help  you." 

"  Do  n't  trouble  yourself,  Mr.  Tom;  I'm  thinking 
you  aint  gone  from  Saint  Davids,  yet,"  replied  the 
cook,  and  slamming  her  chair  back  against  the  wall, 
broke  off  the  conversation. 

The  negro  finished  his  meal,  and  went  on  to  the 
stoop  and  amused  himself  with  playing  with  the  dog. 
lie  had  nothing  in  particular  to  do  but  to  wait  upon 
customers  at  the  bar,  and  not  much  of  that.  The  vil 
lage  was  small  in  size  and  population  ;  besides,  there 
was  another  public  house  in  the  place,  which  divided 
the  custom  for  bitters  and  grog.  And  as  for  travelers, 
they  were  more  apt  to  pass  by  without  stopping ;  and 
if  they  halted,  it  was  merely  to  give  their  horses  a 
moment  or  two  to  breathe  and  sip  a  little  water.  As 
a  general  rule,  Tom  could  lie  upon  the  bench  from 
hour  to  hour,  without  being  disturbed;  and  he  did  not 
omit,  especially  on  this  day,  to  avail  himself  of  the 
opportunity. 

The  weather  was  hot  and  sultry ;  a  weather-wise 
barrister  said  the  thermometer  stood  at  ninety-six  de 
grees  in  the  shade.  However  that  might  be,  the  sun 
was  scorching  hot,  out  of  the  shade.  Mr.  and  Mrs. 
Brown  stopped,  the  night  before,  at  the  house  of  a 


352  LIFE   AT    THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

friend,  near  the  river,  a  short  distance  below  the  vil 
lage  of  Chippewa.  The  hospitality  was  so  agreeable, 
they  did  not  take  a  very  early  start ;  it  was  after  ten 
o'clock  before  they  resinned  their  journey  homeward. 
They  rode  in  a  vehicle,  called  a  buggy,  with  no  cover 
ing  to  screen  themselves  from  the  rays  of  the  sun.  Mrs. 
Brown  had  not  neglected  to  take  the  umbrella,  but  in 
the  confusion  incident  to  the  adjournment  of  a  large 
convention,  with  many  particular  friends  to  say  a 
parting  word  to,  tins  important  traveling  companion 
was  entirely  overlooked  and  forgotten.  It  was  not 
missed  the  evening  previous,  and  did  not  come  to  her 
recollection,  until  they  rode  out  of  the  yard  in  the 
morning. 

"  There,  would  you  believe  it,  we  have  lost  that  ten- 
shilling  umbrella!  Stir  your  feet  around  in  the  straw. 
Don't  feel  it!  gone  —  lost!  It  is  so  strange,  Mr. 
Brown,  that  you  never  have  vour  thoughts  about  von. 

i/  i/  O  »> 

If  I  had  had  nothing  to  do  but  to  get  up  the  team,  when 
we  were  starting,  we  should  n't  have  been  in  this  fix  ! " 
"  I  did  n't  think  about  the  umbrella,  Lizzy." 
"That's  what  I  say;  your  mind  was  on  something 
else.     If   you  had  had  your  thoughts  about  you,  we 
should  now  have  been  more  comfortable.     That  shows 
the  necessity,  Mr.  Brown,  of  always  attending  to  one's 
business." 

"Why,  really,  Mrs.  Brown,  I  think  you  are  making 
me  accountable  for  too  much.  I  don't  think  it  was 
my  duty  to  look  after  the  umbrella:  in  the  first  place, 
I  had  it  not  in  charge;  and  in  the  second  place,  I 
do  n't  care  for  it." 


853 

"  Do  n't  say  that,  husband  ;  it  is  merely  a  pretence 
to  git  rid  of  the  blame.  You  are  no  more  fond  of  the 
fire  than  myself.  .  Oh  !  how  hot !  Ah  I  I  can't  endure 
this ;  you  must  stop  and  see  if  you  can  borrow." 

"  We  will  stop  and  buy  one,  at  the  next  store." 

"  Oh,  no  we  won't !  we  can't  afford  it.  We  are 
engaged  in  a  good  cause,  and  some  of  the  good  people 
along  the  road  here  must  accommodate  us.  There, 
rein  up  to  the  bars,  and  try  them  in  that  house  yon 
der.  It  looks  kind  o'  nice  about  the  yard  ;  I  guess  they 
can  afford  to  keep  one." 

"Shall  I  tell  them  we  will  send  it  back,  Mrs. 
Brown  ? " 

"  Certainly;  the  first  opportunity.  You  can  tell  them 
we  shall  have  plenty  of  chances." 

Mr.  Brown  thought  he  might  as  well  succumb  first 
as  last;  and  he  had  no  objection  to  having  the  benefit 
of  the  shade  himself.  He  knocked  at  the  door  of  a 
small  farm-house,  which  stood  back  from  the  road 
several  rods,  with  a  patch  of  land  in  front,  used  as  a 
garden — was  bidden  to  walk  in,  and  complied  with 
the  order.  Before  he  had  time  to  tell  what  he  wanted, 
the  matron  of  the  house  requested  him  to  be  seated, 
lie  attempted  to  excuse  himself,  from  haste;  but  he 
had  no  opportunity,  as  the  matron  again  interrupted 
him,  by  shoving  a  chair  across  the  room,  and  at  the 
same  time  saying,  "Take  a  seat,  sir."  There  did  not 
seem  to  be  any  other  alternative,  and  concluding  that 
he  could  do  his  errand  as  well  sitting  as  standing,  he 
accepted  the  invitation,  or,  more  literally,  obeyed  the 
mandate. 


354  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  I  have  lost  my  umbrella,  mem,  up  at  the  conven 
tion  ;  and  it  is  so  very  scorching  in  the  sun,  I  have 
called  in  to  see  if  you  had  one  that  Mrs.  Brown  can 
take/' 

"  What  convention  have  you  been  attending,  sir,  if 
I  may  take  the  liberty  to  ask  ?  "  said  the  matron,  un 
willing  to  let  any  occasion  slip  to  acquire  information, 
especially  if  it  cost  nothing. 

"For  the  benefit  of  our  colored  brethren,  at  the 
South,"  replied  Mr.  Brown,  in  a  very  solemn  tone  of 
voice. 

"Ah,  yes,  yes  ;  I  am  glad  you  have  called  in.  Yvre 
meant  to  have  gone  up  ourselves,  but  we  felt  as  though 
we  could  hardly  lose  the  time,  now,  right  in  the  midst 
of  haying  and  harvesting,  so.  Mr.  Sharp  is  always 
particular  about  the  crops.  We  'tended  the  other  con 
vention,  though,"  complaisantly  remarked  Mrs.  Sharp, 
thinking  that  she  should  now  learn  all  that  transpired. 

"  Yes,  mem,"  was  the  brief  reply  of  Mr.  Brown, 
who  did  not  fancy  the  idea  of  spending  the  forenoon 
there,  to  accommodate  Mrs.  Sharp  with  the  news. 

"  Any  great  doings  up  there  ? "  she  inquired,  as  he 
did  not  appear  to  take  the  hint. 

"  Oh,  nothing,  mem,  of  special  interest." 

"  Large  attendance  ?  " 

"  Respectable,  quite  respectable,  mem." 

"  The  big  guns  were  all  there,  I  s'pose." 

"  Pretty  much,  mem." 

"  Well,  any  new  steps  proposed?" 

"  Nothing  to  speak  of;  the  old  story,  mem." 

"My  heart  yearns  for  the  poor  creatures,  every  time 


355 

I  take  np  my  paper.  When  shall  we  see  the  end  of 
it  ?  "  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  despairing  as  much  of  receiving 
information  as  of  knowing  the  linal  destiny  of  the 
slave. 

"Mr.  Brown,  are  you  intending  to  spend  the  day 
here?"  inquired  his  wife,  taking  the  liberty  to  open 
the  door  without  knocking,  and  out  of  all  patience 
with  her  husband's  dilatoriness.  u  You  must  think 
that  it  is  very  pleasant  for  me  to  stay  out  there  in  the 
sun,  while  you  are  cooling  yourself  in  the  house." 

Mr.  Brown  was  thunderstruck,  and  attempted  to 
apologize  for  the  rudeness. 

"  There's  no  use  of  saying  anything.  I  see  how  it 
is  :  forgot  ail  about  me,  and  paying  your  addresses  to 
the  lady  of  the  house." 

"  Xurisense,  Mrs.  Brown.  I  'm  glad  to  know  your 
name ;  come  in,  and  join  us.  I  am  trying  to  learn 
something  from  your  husband  concerning  the  conven 
tion  ;  but  he  is  so  bashful  I  have  not  as  yet  succeeded. 
Coine  in." 

Mrs.  Brown  was  glad  to  accept  of  the  proffered  hos 
pitality,  and  readily  seated  herself. 

"  Come,  take  off  your  bonnet  and  things,  and  take 
some  dinner  with  us.  Mr.  Sharp  will  be  up  from  the 
wheat  field  pretty  soon.  "We  do  n't  have  much  —  live 
plain ;  but  we  can  give  you  enough  to  stay  your  appe 
tite  until  you  get  home,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  standing 
before  Mrs.  Brown,  to  receive  her  bonnet. 

"  Mr.  Brown,  I  guess  we  will  stay  to  dinner,  as  we 
shall  be  late  home.  You  can  go  out  and  take  care  of 
the  mare  ;  hitch  her  tight,  so  that  she  will  not  start  off. 


356  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

By  the  way,  Mrs.  Sharp,  have  you  any  little  green 
grass  we  can  give  her?  it  is  too  bad  to  make  her 
stand  out  there  with  nothing  to  eat." 

"  Certainly.  The  boys  are  all  at  work.  Mr.  Brown, 
please  make  yourself  at  home.  You  can  get  a  lock  in 
the  shed,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  happy  to  have  the  com 
pany  of  Mrs.  Brown,  as  she  could  tell  her  all  about 
the  convention. 

The  latter  named  lady  threw  off  her  things,  and 
leaned  back  in  the  rocking-chair,  ready  for  as  lengthy 
a  chat  as  Mrs.  Sharp  might  desire. 

"  So,  you  have  been  up  to  the  tent,  have  you  ?  " 

"Yes;  we  thought  it  was  our  duty  to  attend.  Mr. 
Brown  did  not  hardly  know  how  he  could  leave  home; 
but  where  there  is  a  will  there  is  always  a  wav,  von 

t)  i/  /    «> 

know,  Mrs.  Sharp." 

"  I  never  knew  it  to  fail,  Mrs.  Brown.  You  was 
well  paid,  I  have  no  doubt,  for  your  trouble." 

"Oh!  by  all  means.  There  was  more  interest  felt, 
I  think,  than  usual." 

"Any  new  cases  reported?  " 

"Yes;  a  most  horrible  one.  It  fairly  made  my 
blood  curdle  to  hear  it." 

"  Oh  !  pray,  tell  me  the  circumstances." 

"Whipped  to  death!" 

"  Whipped  to  death  !  "  screamed  Mrs.  Sharp. 

"  'T  is  even  so.     Really  whipped  to  death  !  " 

"Well  now,  one  would  hardly  think  that  such 
an  act  would  be  tolerated  in  any  civilized  land  in 
this  nineteenth  century.  Was  it  done  for  a  pnnish- 
nTent?" 


85T 

""Why,  yes;  but  not  from  the  ordinary  cause,  Mrs. 
Sharp."' 

"  Ugliness  and  laziness  combined,  probably.." 

"  Oh !  bless  you,  no  —  no  —  no  —  no  !  When  I  think 
of  it,  I  am  almost  tempted  to  go  South,  and  fight  for 
the  poor  slave." 

"What  was  it?  Do  tell  me,  Mrs.  Brown,"  said 
Mrs.  Sharp,  her  feelings  wrought  up  to  the  extreme 
pitch  of  excitement. 

"  For  being  a  professor  of  religion,  and  desiring  to 
attend  the  church  of  God  !  " 

;'  For  being  a  Christian  !  Oh  !  awful !  how  brutal ! 
worse  than  the  cannibal ! "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sharp, 
twisting  her  visage  into  a  variety  of  contortions. 

"  'T  is  even  so ;  and  in  a  land  calling  itself  Chris 
tian  ! "  added  Mrs.  Brown. 

"  Well,  it  is  so  awful,  we  could  not  credit  the  fact, 
if  we  did  not  know  it  to  be  so  ;  could  we?  " 

"  I  do  n't  know  what  will  come  next ;  I  arn  prepared 
now  for  anything.  I  was  remarking  to  Mr.  Brown,  as 
we  came  along,  that  I  should  expect  to  hear  next  of 
slaves  being  whipped  to  death  for  even  having  a  desire 
to  eat  or  drink.  How  utterly  depraved  human  nature 
must  be  in  that  dark  region!  " 

Mrs.  Sharp  desired  to  be  informed  of  the  details, 
and  Mrs.  Brown  rehearsed  the  circumstances,  as  she 
heard  them  at  the  convention. 

In  the  meantime,  Mr.  Brown  sought  out  Mr.  Sharp 
in  the  wheat  field,  and  told  him  what  transpired  at 
the  convention.  Mr.  Sharp  was  as  much  astonished 
as  his  wife,  at  the  intelligence. 


358  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    (jR 

"  Brown,  it  does  seem  to  me  that  it  can  not  "be  true,'' 
said  lie,  as  they  were  walking  toward  the  house. 

of  it  ;    comes  in   an   authentic   shape. 


Must  be  reliable." 

''Downright  murder  —  -worse  than  that'  —  'it  is  blas 
phemous!  That  planter  never  can  see  heaven.  lie 
ought  not  to  be  allowed  to  repent,  even  if  he  would. 
Hell  is  too  lenient  for  the  infamous  wretch  !" 

"  The  greater  the  necessity  for  unflinching  fortitude 
on  our  part.  This  case,  probably,  is  only  one  out  of  a 
thousand.  I  expect  that  we  do  not  hear  the  half  that 
might  be  told." 

"Well,  what  was  proposed?" 

"To  circulate  the  documents  more  freely  in  all  the 
Southern  country;  send  our  friends  there,  and  by  all 
possible  means,  awaken  the  blacks  to  a  sense  of  their 
danger.  We  have  agreed  to  contribute  more  liberally. 
1  suppose  yon  will  be  ready  for  any  reasonable  levy 
that  may  be  made  upon  your  purse?"  inquired  Mr. 
Brown. 

"Oh  !  I  generally  bear  my  share  of  the  burden.  I 
think,  however,  that  move  is  effected  by  persuasion 
than  violence.  We  should  preach  more  to  the  masters, 
and  less  to  the  slaves.  A  correct  moral  sentiment 
among  the  owners  is  the  most  desirable.  Get  this  class 
of  persons  right,  and  there  is  more  hope  of  the  ultimate 
redemption  of  our  fellow-creatures  from  the  thraldom 
of  bondage." 

"That  will  not  be  accomplished  in  our  day,  Mr. 
Sharp.  So  long  as  money  can  be  made  in  the  traffic 
of  human  flesh,  the  cursed  evil  will  continue.  ]STo, 


359 

no.  This  is  not  the  time  for  hike  warm  ness  on  the  part 
of  professed  friends.  We  must  make  the  slaveholder 
feel  the  force  of  Northern  opinion,  by  dispossessing 
them  of  what  is  technically  termed  property,  (what  a 
Godforsaken  word!)  and  furnishing  a  safe  retreat 
and  an  impregnable  asylum  for  the  slave,  when  he 
happens  to  make  good  his  escape  to  this  land  of  free 
dom." 

"Have  you  'ever  looked  into  this  Liberia  question, 
Mr.  Brown  ?  It  has  been  running  in  my  mind  con 
siderably,  for  some  time  past ;  I  do  n't  exactly  know 
what  to  think  about  it." 

u  Fudge  !  Do  you  suppose  that  fellow  who  whipped 
his  slave  to  death,  would  have  consented  to  part  with 
him  for  any  sum  of  money?  Not  he.  And  as  for 
emancipation,  the  bloodthirsty  monster  would  laugh 
at  the  proposition,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  becoming  excited, 
and  vexed  that  his  friend  should  entertain  such  ideas. 

"The  case  reported  is  extraordinary." 

"  But  none  the  less  true  for  that,  Mr.  Sharp." 

"  Certainly  not.  But  such  instances,  I  suspect,  njust 
be  rare." 

"The  half  does  not  reach  our  ears,  sir.  And  if  this 
is  the  first  instance  of  the  kind,  how  do  we  know — what 
assurance  have  we  —  that  the  same  scene  will  not  be 
enacted  again  to-morrow  ?  When  nature  is  so  depraved, 
there  is  no  safeguard  against  a  repetition,  unless  you 
remove  all  opportunity  for  the  commission  of  the 
crime." 

"  I  do  n't  know  about  believing  it.  I  should  sup 
pose  that  he  would  dislike  to  part  with  his  property  so 


360  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OH 

cheaply.  I  see  no  inducement;  and  the  doctrine,  Mr. 
Brown,  you  know,  is  that  the  slaveholder  holds  his 
property  for  gain.  I  suspect  the  slave  must  have  been 
ugly,  or  tricky  in  work  —  something  of  the  kind/' 

"  Ah  !  Mr.  Sharp,  I  am  afraid  you  are  letting  go  the 
faith.  I  will  see  what  your  wife  says,"  remarked  Mr. 
Brown,  as  they  entered  the  house. 

"Would  you  believe  it,  Mr.  Sharp,  they  have  killed 
another  negro  down  South  !  "  said  Mrs.  Sharp. 

"Oh!  I  have  told  him  the  story,  but  he  does  not 
believe  it,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"Does  not  believe  it!  "  exclaimed  Mrs.  Sharp. 

"I  was  remarking  to  Mr.  Brown,  that  I  could  see 
no  inducement;  that  was  all,"  said  her  husband. 

"Pshaw!  there  is  no  doubt  of  its  authenticity,  Mr. 
Sharp.  Natural — just  what  we  expect  to  hear.  He 
believes  it  as  much  as  we  do,  Mr.  Brown." 

"I  shouldn't  think  Mr.  Sharp  would  be  an  unbe 
liever;  he  must  be  too  sensible  for  that,  or  you  would 
not  live  with  him,  Mrs.  Sharp,"  said  Mrs.  Brown. 

"Of  course  not." 

The  dinner  was  ready,  and  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Sharp,  and 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  sat  down  to  the  table  to  partake 
of  it.  The  evils  of  slavery,  and  the  sufferings  of  its 
victims,  was  the  theme  of  conversation.  They  agreed 
perfectly  in  sentiment.  The  same  unanimity  exit-ted 
as  to  the  remedy  to  eradicate  the  evil,  unless  the  fact 
that  Mr.  Sharp  occasionally  suggested  Liberia  as  the 
elixir,  might  be  deemed  a  difference. 

"To  tell  you  the  truth,  Mr.  Brown,  my  husband 
lately  has  got  it  into  his  head  that  emancipation  is  the 


361 

thing  ;  but  I  tell  him  it  would  be  so  gradual,  the  poor 
slave  never  would  get  his  rights.  They  increase  too 
fast  ever  to  be  all  freed,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  lest  her 
visitors  should  go  away  with  a  wrong  impression  of 
•her  views. 

u  I  hope  you  will  cure  him  of  that,"  said  Mrs. 
'Brown. 

These  visitors  succeeded  not  only  in  borrowing  an 
umbrella,  but  in  obtaining  the  loan  of  a  dinner,  and 
proceeded  homeward  very  comfortably. 

"  Mr.  Brown,  you  see  I  am  always  right.  How 
nice  now,  is  the  ride;  the  umbrella  makes  a  good 
shade  —  rather  small.  I  wonder  they  didn't  get  a 
bigger  one;  it  would  n't  have  cost  but  a  little  more." 

"  Beggars  shouldn't  be  choosers,  Lizzy.  I  did  not 
like  Mr.  Sharp's  talk :  somebody  is  sowing  tares  in 
this  neighborhood." 

"  Never  mind,  Mrs.  Sharp  will  keep  her  husband  all 
right,  I'll  warrant  you." 

"  Doubtful ;  he  spoke  very  decidedly.' 

"  Poor  woman !  she  has  her  hands  full  to  manage 
him,  I  suppose.  When  will  men  learn  to  be  domestic! 
It  was  his  fault,  no  doubt,  that  they  did  not  go  to  the 
convention.  Stingy  man !  afraid  to  spend  a  cent  in 
the  cause.  Heigh  ho  !  start  up  the  mare  —  let  her  jog 
along  a  little  faster,  Mr.  Brown ;  I  am  tired  of  this 
dust:  whew  !  how  thick  it  comes  !  " 

Mrs.   Brown's  tongue  never  rested  when  she   was 

ZD 

awake ;  and  what  was  a  remarkable  trait,  she  was 
unhappy  unless  her  husband  was  present.  Her  eyes 
would  snap  like  lightning-bugs,  if  contradicted  in  the 


3C2  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

least;  and  as  Mr.  Brown  hardly  ever  ventured  to 
express  a  dissent,  she  preferred  to  talk  to  him.  She 
always  took  him  along,  if  she  went  out  of  the  village. 
Not  that  she  wished  him  to  say  anything,  unless  her 
conversation  lagged,  and  then  only  to  fill  up,  whilst 
she  took  time  to  adjust  the  shawl,  or  fix  her  bonnet,  or 
the  like.  His  disposition  was  kind  and  obliging,  and 
they  lived  happily  —  at  any  rate,  Mrs.  .Brown  did. 

"  What  a  rich  prospect !  "  said  she,  as  they  emerged 
from  the  woods,  and  were  descending  the  high  hill 
above  Saint  Davids.  "  You  must  make  up  for  lost 
time;  there  is  a  second  crop  clown  in  the  meadow,  and 
you  had  better  take  it  down  right  away,  Mr.  Brown," 
she  added,  as  they  came  abreast  of  a  respectable  sized 
lot,  covered  with  thick,  short  grass. 

"Yes,  Lizzy  ;  I  will  put  Tom  into  it  to-morrow." 

"It  feels  mighty  lonesome  here,  after  seeing  so  much 
company  for  two  or  three  days,"  remarked  Mrs.  Brown, 
as  they  rode  into  the  village. 

'•Yes,  Lizzy,  but  I  am  glad  to  get  home,"  replied 
her  husband,  as  they  rode  up  to  the  inn. 

The  negro  lay  on  the  bench,  last  asleep  ;  Jowl er  had 
gone  around  the  other  side  of  the  house,  to  get  into  the 
shade.  Some  swine  were  wallowing  in  a  large  mud- 
puddle  not  far  distant  from  the  door  step;  and  what 
might  have  been  called,  in  the  day  of  its  prime,  a 
broom,  but  now  having  more  the  resemblance  of  a 
scrub,  was  balancing  upon  the  edge  of  the  stoop,  as 
if  in  doubt  whether  the  street  or  floor  contained  the 
most  dirt. 

Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown  alighted.    The  dog,  hearing  the 


868 

noise  of  the  carriage  wheels  as  they  rolled  upon  the 
flat  stone  in  front  of  the  door,  left  his  lair  and  walked 
around  the  corner  to  observe  who  had  arrived,  and 
finding  his  master  and  mistress,  expressed  himself 
gratified  to  welcome  them  home. 

"  Tom  !  you  lazy,  good-for-nothing  lout,  why  aint  you 
stirring?"  inquired  Mrs.  Brown,  joggling  the  negro 
out  of  his  sleep. 

In  consequence  of  his  inability  to  sleep  the  usual 
time  the  night  before,  Tom  was  now  enjoying  the  lux 
ury  of  a  very  sound  doze.  Coming  out  of  it  so  sud 
denly,  produced  some  bewilderment,  and  the  first  he 
knew,  he  found  himself  prostrate  upon  the  floor.  As 
soon  as  his  eyes  opened  and  fell  upon  the  masculine 
form  of  Mrs.  Brown,  he  instantly  came  to  his  senses, 
and  started  to  his  feet. 

"It  is  you,  missus !  I 's  glad  to  see  you  are  come ;  I 
have  been  waitin'  for  you  all  day,"  said  the  negro, 
stretching  his  brawny  arms  above  his  head. 

"  Well,  I  s'pose  you  have  not  had  much  to  do,  so 
put  out  the  mare,  and  go  into  the  garden  and  dig  a 
hill  of  potatoes  ;  we  have  n't  had  anything  fit  to  eat 
since  we  left  home.  Be  spry,  now,"  said  Mrs.  Brown 
to  her  cherished  pet. 

"Yas,  missus,"  replied  the  negro,  and  did  as  di 
rected,  fully  impressed,  however,  with  the  belief  that 
there  was  no  hurry,  so  leisurely  did  he  execute  the 
command. 

Mrs.  Brown  scolded  the  cook,  and  became  quite  im 
patient,  Tom  was  so  long  coming  with  the  potatoes. 

"  I  never  did  see  the  like  on  't;  these  niggers  are  the 


364:  LIFE   AT  THE   SOUTH;    OR 

slowest  mortals  !  Who  could  have  thought  it  ?  why, 
it  is  an  hour,  I  do  believe,  since  I  told  that  fellar  what 
to  do.  No  wonder  they  never  have  anything.  Kitty, 
go  out,  and,  for  land's  sake,  see  what  has  become 
of  him  !  I  should  n't  wonder  if  he  had  gone  to  sleep 
agin,"  said  Mi's.  Brown,  rocking  in  the  big  arm  chair, 
and  perusing  the  last  paper. 

Tom  presently  came  in. 

"  Missus,  I  am  guine  to  leave  you,"  he  remarked,  as 
he  sat  down  the  basket. 

"  What  is  it  you  say,  Tom?  "  inquired  Mrs.  Brown, 
with  a  look  of  surprise. 

"  I  say,  dis  person  am  guine  from  Saint  Davids." 

"You  do  n't  mean  for  good,  d'ye?  " 

"  Foreber.  I  am  satisfied  that  this  is  not  the  place 
for  me;  I  can  do  better  in  another  place." 

"  You  do  n't  say  you  are  in  earnest?  " 

"Dat  am  de  fact." 

a  Where  do  you  think  of  going,  pray  ? ?1 

"  To  the  big  city  of  Buffalo." 

"To  Buffalo?" 

"  Yas,  missus." 

"  Foolish  fellar  !  you  won't  stay  there  long,  or  I 
iniss  my  reckoning.  Why,  your  old  master  will  have 
you  right  away,  if  you  cross  the  line  ;  they  have  their 
spies  out  all  around,"  said  Mrs.  Brown,  throwing  down 
the  paper,  and  determined  to  dissuade  him  from  his 
purpose. 

"  Mr.  Allgood  talk'd  differently,"  said  the  negro,  in 
a  lower  voice 

"Mr.— who?" 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  365 

"  Mr  Allgood,  missus." 

"  Allgood  ?  I  know  no  such  person." 

"  He  lives  in  dat  city,  and  he  told  me  by  all  means 
to  go.  He  said  he  would  befriend  me." 

fc  You  may  rely  upon  it,  he  means  you  no  good ; 
it  is  a  trap  to  catch  you.  My  advice  is,  to  remain 
where  you  are;  you  are  doing  well  now — far  better 
than  a  majority  of  your  race;  and  only  think  of  again 
being  reduced  to  servitude,  after  you  have  once  tasted 
the  sweets  of  freedom!  No,  no  ;  don't,  I  beg  of  you, 
make  such  a  dunce  of  yourself." 

u  I  can't  so  look  at  the  subject,  missus ;  an'  I  can 
easily  run  out  of  the  way,  if  I  seed  the  slave-catcher," 
said  the  negro,  taking  courage,  as  Mrs.  Brown  did  not 
absolutely  forbid  him  to  leave. 

"  Brown,  would  you  believe  it,  our  Tom  actually 
thinks  of  quitting  Saint  Davids,  for  Buffalo?  I  tell 
him,  he  goes  into  slavery  in  a  jiff,  if  he  stops  at  that 
place,"  said  she,  to  her  husband,  who  happened  into 
the  kitchen. 

"  Yes,  and  if  he  is  caught  now,  he  will  find  the 
chain  and  lash  more  galling  than  he  ever  did,"  re 
marked  Mr.  Brown,  chiming  in  with  his  wife. 

"  Ah !  you  cairt  go,  Tom.  I  believe  he  agreed  to 
work  for  us  till  fall,  did  he  not?  " 

"  There  was  no  time  fixed,"  replied  Mr.  Brown. 

"  The  truth ;  that  is  so,  missus,"  quickly  added  the 
negro,  and  chuckling  that  he  was  not  obliged  to  re 
main,  walked  into  the  bar-room,  fur  the  purpose  of 
packing  his  duds. 

"  I   really  do  n't    know  what   will  become  of  us, 


366  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

you  make  such  foolish  bargains/'  said  she  to  hea 
husband. 

uThe  time  escaped  my  attention,  Lizzy  ;  I  have  so 
much  to  think  of,  I  can't  have  my  thoughts  upon  every 
thing,  all  the  while." 

u  Jist  when  we  want  him  the  most,  he  must  up  and 
leave,  lie  has  not,  actually,  earned  the  salt  in  his  por 
ridge.  Shiftless,  dirty  creature  !  always  standing  about, 
with  no  will  to  do  anything  useful,  all  winter,  spring, 
and  summer;  and  now,  when  he  would  come  handy,  lie 
must  go  to  Buffalo  !  Is  there  any  wages  due  him  '(  " 

"  A  few  shillings." 

"  Do  n't  you  pay  him  a  penny;  I  will  not  consent 
to  it,  that's  flat.  ISow,  Brown,  have  your  thoughts 
about  you." 

"  Why,  Lizzy,  you  would  not  cheat  the  poor  man 
out  of  a  few  shillings,  would  von?  he  will  starve." 

O     /  tJ 

uLet  him  beg,  then  ;  he  knows  how  to  do  that  work 
to  perfection  :  and  besides,  it  will  give  him  employment, 
and  keep  him  out  of  mischief.  K"o,  no ;  not  a  cent, 
Mr.  Brown;  we  have  done  enough  fur  him  already," 
said  Mrs.  Brown,  emphatically. 

The  tavern-keeper  scratched  his  head,  and  followed 
Tom  into  the  bar-room.  The  negro  overheard  the  con 
versation  in  the  kitchen  after  he  came  out. 

"  Well,  you  are  resolved  to  leave  us  \  "  remarked 
Mr.  Brown,  discovering  Tom  tying  up  his  shirt  with  a 
tow  string. 

"  Yas;  I  'm  off  to  Buffalo,  for  .worse  or  good." 

"  What 's  your  notion  of  starting  to-day,  and  so  near 
sunset?" 


367 

"  Not  so  hot,  sir,  in  the  night  —  no  sun." 

"  What  do  you  expect  to  do?  I  am  afraid  you  will 
starve." 

u  Rub  the  gemraen's  boots  and  shoes.  First-rate 
business,  and  good  pay;  all  in  hand  —  no  trust." 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  good  idea.  Tom,  do  we  owe  you  any 
thing?  "  asked  the  tavern-keeper,  with  some  hesitation, 
for  he  hardly  knew  what  to  do  about  paying,  if  he  did, 
Mrs.  Brown  was  so  positive  in  her  direction. 

"  Not  a  cent ;  we  are  even.  I  have  reckoned  it  up. 
I  have  taken  thirty  shillings  since  you  have  been  gone, 
from  the  customers ;  that  makes  us  squar'." 

Mr.  Brown  did  not  think  the  balance  was  quite  so 
much.  But  as  he  would  not  be  compelled  to  violate 
his  wife's  injunction,  he  concluded  not  to  say  anything 
about  it. 

u  Very  well;  call  it  so,  and  make  good  use  of  your 
money,1'  he  replied  ;  and  invited  the  negro  to  stay  and 
get  his  supper. 

"That's  been  attended  to,  sir.  I  am  full  as  a  tick; 
I  had  jist  eaten  my  dinner  when  you  drove  up,"  said 
Tom,  who  did  not  care  to  stay  any  longer,  for  fear  that 
Mrs.  Brown  might  in  the  meantime  interpose  some 
obstacle  to  his  going. 

u  If  you  ever  come  this  way,  Tom,  do  n't  give  us 
the  slip ;  we  shall  be  glad  to  see  you." 

"Neber  fear  dat,"  lie  answered,  and  opening  the 
kitchen  door,  made  his  obeisance  to  Mrs.  Brown;  and 
without  stopping  to  receive  her  parting  blessing,  took 
to  the  street,  and  walked  off,  very  nimbly  for  him, 
bound  for  Buffalo,  to  try  his  fortune  as  a  boot-black. 


368  LIFE   AT  THE    SOUTH',    OB 


CHAPTER  XXY. 

HARD     TIMES. 

"13  *•„•''    r   '1  T  ponder  Fate's  unaltered  plan, 
3?'jr,  Typing  back  the  child,  forget  that  I  am  man," 

GKOIU-.T:  DYER. 

Tom  arrived  in  Buffalo  late  in  the  afternoon  of  the 
next,  fhiy  after  he  bid  farewell  to  the  inn  at  Saint 
Davids.  An  utter  stranger,  lie  knew  not  whither  to 
direct  his  footsteps.  He  came  tip  from  the  ferry  at 
Black  Rock,  and  entered  the  metropolis  on  a  street 
known  by  the  name  of  Xiagara.  As  ho  entered  an 
other  avenue  —  for  it  was  more  like  that  than  a  com 
mon  street  —  he  suddenly  found  himself  amid  the  hum 
of  business,  and  constantly  jostled  with  people  passing 
to  and  fro.  lie  observed  many  of  his  own  color;  and 
the  appearance  of  several  indicated  that  this  world  did 
not  go  hard  with  them.  He  spoke  to  one  or  two,  but 
they  were  in  too  great  haste  to  stop  and  talk;  and  he 
followed  the  wide  sidewalk,  caring  but  little  where  it 
conducted  him.  He  soon  observed  a  long  pole  — 
which  lie  subsequently  learned  was  called  "the  liberty 


369 

pole"-— erected  high  in  the  air,  with  a  flag  suspended 
from  it  at  half-must.  This  attracted  his  attention,  and 
he  halted  to  see  it  undulate  in  the  breeze.  He  had 
stood  but  a  moment  or  two,  when  a  person  rudely 
slapped  him  upon  the  shoulder,  and  asked  him  what 
he  was  gazing  at. 

"  Yon  banner,  I  presume  ;  how  solemnly  it  waves," 
replied  a  young  gentleman,  in  his  behalf,  who  admired 
the  black  because  he  evinced  sense  enough  to  pause 
and  survey  it  in  silence.  The  challenger  did  not  ap 
preciate  the  remark,  but  viewed  the  flag  as  so  much 
cloth  swinging  in  the  wind,  gave  a  loud,  sneering  sort 
of  chuckle,  and  passed  across  the  street. 

As  the  young  gentleman  had  volunteered  to  take 
the  answer  out  of  his  mouth,  Tom  felt  at  liberty  to 
inquire  why  the  banner  was  thus  displayed.' 

u  Capt.  Isham,  of  the  schooner  Iroquois,  fell  over 
board  into  the  creek  last  ni^ht,  and  was  drowTned.  I 

O          / 

knew  the  poor  fellow  well/' 

"  Mass'r,  I  neber  see  the  stars  and  stripes  without 
thinking  of  freedom ;  flat's  what  stopped  me.  Do 
you  know  Mr.  Allgood?" 

"  Allgood  —  Allgood;  it  seems  to  me  I  do.  I  think 
he  is  —  it  is  my  impression — let  me  see  —  ah!  he  was 
formerly  on  the  —  I  guess  he  was  —  yes,  I  know 
him,"  replied  the  young  gentleman. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  whar'  I  can  find  him?  "  inquired 
Tom,  rejoiced  to  think  that  he  should  find  his  friend. 

41  Upon  my  life,  I  can  not  inform  you.  But,  look 
into  the  directory;  you  will  find  his  name  there;  the 
name  of  every  resident  in  the  city  is  there  —  it  is  very 


370  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

full,"  replied  the  young  gentleman,  and  he  passed 
across  the  street  also. 

Tom  did  not  acquire  much  information,  for  he  had 
never  heard  of  a  directory,  and  he  was  puzzled  to 
understand  what  the  man  meant.  He  observed  a 
tavern,  a  short  distance  down  the  street,  to  his  right, 
and  as  it  was  getting  late,  he  thought  he  would  go  and 
call  for  entertainment. 

He  entered  the  public  house,  and  learned  that  it  was 
called  the  City  Hotel.  He  considered  himself  fortu 
nate,  for  it  was  near  this  place  that  Mr.  A 11  good  said 
he  lived.  Tom  asked  fur  supper  and  lodgings,  and 
was  civilly  informed  that  he  could  be  accommodated. 

In  the  morning,  he  was  stirring  before  many  of  the 
other  lodgers,  for  he  had  heard  that  the  man  who  got 
up  early  picked  up  the  worm.  He  strolled  over  a 
bridge  which  spanned  the  Erie  canal,  and  elbowed  his 
way  toward  the  creek.  He  had  not  gone  far,  when 
he  fell  in  company  with  a  colored  man,  whose  appear 
ance  indicated  that  he  was  in  no  danger  of  starvation, 
and  whose  countenance  betokened  a  kind,  obliging 
disposition. 

u  Can  you  tell  whar' Mr.  Allgood  lives?"  inquired 
Tom. 

"  I  have  not  the  honor  to  know  the  man,"  replied 
the  person  addressed  ;  "  what  business  does  he  follow?" 

u  Dunno,  sir;  he  advised  dis  nigger  to  cum  to  .Buf 
falo  an'  make  his  fortune." 

"  Ah !  well,  this  is  the  place,  no  doubt.  Plenty  to 
do,  and  good  pay.  IV here  do  you  hail  from?" 

"  Down   South.      I   have    been    to  Saint   Davids. 


371 

Tired  of  freedom  tliar',  I  thought  I  would  try  it  in  dis 
town." 

"All,  ha!  You  have  delivered  yourself  from  the 
master!  Good  !  What  can  you  do?  " 

"  I  have  selected  the  profession.  Mr.  Allgood  says 
I  can  make  property  at  that,"  replied  Tom,  leaning 
against  an  awning  post. 

"  What  profession  did  you  remark?" 

"  Boot-black.     I  can  beat  um  all  in  dat  line." 

"  Lucrative  business,  I  expect.  You  have  not  selected 
your  depot  yet,  I  take  it  ? " 

"  Dat  \s  de  reason  'kase  I  war  lookin'  for  my  friend, 
Mr.  Allgood." 

"  ISTever  mind  him  ;  I  can  accommodate  you,  myself. 
Come,  follow  me.  and  I  will  show  you  the  spot.  It 's 
right  in  the  heart  of  trade,  and  terms  liberal." 

"  Thank  'e.     Wha'  name  do  you  go  by  ?  " 

"I  go  by  none.  My  name  is  Easy  —  Easy,,  sir; 
known  all  over  the  city.  Ask  for  Easy,  the  clothes 
renovator,  and  you  will  never  fail  to  find  me." 

"Thank  'e.  I  bless  my  stars  for  finding  you  now," 
replied  Tom;  and  accepting  Mr.  Easy 's  polite  offer, 
went  back  over  the  bridge.  Turning  to  the  left,  they 
went  but  a  few  steps,  before  his  friend  left  the  side 
walk,  and  descended  a  steep  hill. 

"  Wliar'  you  guine,  Mr.  Easy?"  asked  Tom,  not  fan 
cying  the  job  of  climbing  back,  for  the  distance  to  the 
bottom  was  so  great,  it  seemed  almost  out  of  the  world. 

"  To  the  depot.  Come  along ;  nice  place,  when  you 
get  down  —  shady,  and  safe  from  the  lake  winds," 
said  Mr.  Easy,  in  a  voice  full  of  encouragement. 


372  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  J    OK 

"  I  do  n't  like  the  looks  of  dis  valley.  But  Mr. 
Easy  knows  best ;  I'll  slide  along  arter  him,"  said 
Tom.  in  an  under-tone. 

An  edifice,  eight  by  ten,  covered  with  boards — one 
lapped  upon  the  other,  and  laying  loosely;  the  sides 
made  of  various-sized  materials,  with  an  abundance  of 
apertures  for  the  air  to  pass  into  the  building,  and 
some  of  the  beams  and  joists  so  old  that  the  frame 
could  scarcely  hold  together,  contrived  to  stand  at  the 
foot  of  the  hill ;  and  was  the  place  to  which  Mr.  Easy 
conducted  Tom,  to  set  up  business. 

"There,  sir,  this  is  the  spot.  Handy  to  get  around 
in;  no  up-stairs  traveling,  and  not  disturbed  by  the 
rattling  carts  and  wagons.  Besides,  you  have  no  inter 
lopers  looking  in  to  chat ;  we  are  rid  of  such  bores. 
If  a  gentleman  calls,  you  may  rest  assured  he  has 
business  to  transact.  How  does  the  Apartment  strike 
you?" 

"  Dis  nigger  would  rather  be  a  little  higher  up  in 
the  world.  It  will  make  my  legs  ache,  to  get  up  the 
mountain  ;  dat  's  all,  Mr.  Easy,''  said  Tom,  staring 
at  the  clothes  which  hung  upon  the  walls  in  great 
profusion. 

"Pooh  !  no  trick  at  all  to  go  out  on  the  sidewalk, 
when  you  are  used  to  it:  won't  mind  it  — good, 
healthy  exercise.  And  then,  you  should  take  into 
consideration  the  amount  of  rent:  I  shall  tax  you  only 
six  shillings  ;  cheap  as  dirt,"  replied  Mr.  Easy,  bent 
upon  reducing  his  expenses. 

"  Well,  I  will  try  um,  Mr.  Easy  ;  you  work  here, 
tuo,  I  s'pose  '?  " 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  373 

"Certainly;  plenty  of  room.  By  the  way,  I'll  take 
your  name,  before  I  forget." 

'•Tom,  sir;  they  used  to  call  me  Uncle  Tom." 

"  I  have  marked  it  down  ;  we  will  consider  the  bar 
gain  made.  If  I  fall  in  with  customers  —  presume  I 
shall,  am  about  most  of  the  time — I  will  recommend 
them  to  you.  There  's  my  old  boots  now  ;  you  can  try 
your  hand,  they  want  glossing,"  remarked  Mr.  Easy, 
with  a  patronising  air. 

"  I  am  boarding  at  the  City  Hotel,"  said  Tom,  as 
Mr.  Easy  went  out  of  the  depot  with  several  old  clothes 
suspended  on  his  arm. 

''Settle  up  there,  and  lodge  and  eat  your  grub  at 
the  depot,  is  my  advice,"  replied  Mr.  Easy,  and  left 
Tom  to  his  thoughts. 

He  was  glad  to  get  settled  so  quick,  and  felt  en 
couraged  with  the  prospect.  It  was  necessary  to  be 
supplied  with  the  implements  of  his  profession,  and 
commence  work  without  delay.  Returning  to  the 
hotel,  he  ate  his  breakfast,  paid  the  reckoning,  and 
notified  the  bar-tender  of  his  business,  and  where  he 
could  be  found.  He  supplied  himself  with  blacking 
and  brushes,  and  considered  himself  a  made  man. 
"Xow  he  should  really  be  his  own  master,  and  begin 
to  enjoy  the  pleasures  of  freedom,"  he  thought  to  him 
self,  as  he  walked  toward  his  new  quarters,  and  became 
elated  with  the  prospect. 

"  Gracious  !  the  idea  has  jist  struck  me  ;  this  town 
am  dat  Jerusalem  what  mass'r  Bates  spoke  about.  On 
the  borders  of  a  beautiful  lake,  with  broad  streets  and 
gates  of  pearl — so  the  schoolmass'r  spoke  um.  I  am 


374: 


OR 


thar  at  last !  I  '11  ax  Mr.  Easy  when  he  comes.  Oh  ! 
how  I  wish  I  could  see  mass'r  Bates,  jist  for  a  mo 
ment.  I  '11  take  a  look  by-and-by,"  mused  the  fugi 
tive,  rubbing  the  boots. 

"  How  d  'ye  do,  color'd  pusson  ?  blacking  boots  for 
a  living,  hey  ?  Yah,  yah,  yah,"  said  a  hatless,  shirt 
less,  almost  clotheless,  grinning  old  negro,  looking  in 
at  the  door.  Easy  has  gone  into  the  blacking  line, 
has  he?  Success  to  him;  I  advised  him,  long  ao-o, 
to  let  old  clothes  be  :  I  hates  the  sight  of  them." 

Tom  did  not  admire,  particularly,  either  the  lan 
guage  or  manners  of  the  stranger,  and  snuffed  his  nose 
at  the  intruder. 

The  stranger,  nothing  daunted,  walked  in  and  helped 
himself  to  the  table. 

"I  do  n't  recollect  obscrvin1  your  countenance  afore, 
new  comer  in  these  here  parts,  I  expect,"  continued 
the  stranger,  and  at  the  same  time  discharging  a  huge 
mouthful  of  tobacco-juice,  a  portion  of  which  unluckily 
fell  upon  the  boot  that  Tom  had  been  at  so  much  pains 
to  clean. 

"Blast  you  !  see  what  you  have  done!  I  am  good 
mind  to  try  this  on  your  old  pate !  "  exclaimed  the  boot 
black,  and  rising  up  to  put  his  threat  in  execution. 

"Beg  you'  pardon,  thousand  times  —  mistake— an 
accident,  entirely  so,"  said  the  stranger,  jumping  over 
to  the  other  side  of  the  table. 

"If  you  would  stay  in  your  own  quarters,  I  should 
be  saved  this  trouble.  "Whar'  do  you  stop  ?  "  said 
Tom,  vexed,  it  is  true,  but  not  caring  for  a  personal 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN"  AS  IT  IS.  375 

"  Over  in  the  hollar,  close  by ;  we  must  be  neigh 
borly  and  not  quarrel.  If  I  may  be  so  bold,  what  do 
they  call  your  name  ?  " 

"Tom  —  Uncle  Tom,  from  Yirginny.  If  I  am  to 
see  you  often,  s'pose  you  leave  yours." 

"  They  call  me  *  Old  Rip.'  I  am  old  settler  here  — 
can  tell  you  all  about  this  town,  I  know  it  from  center 
to  circumference ;  there  has  n't  been  a  dog,  cat,  woman, 
or  man  fight,  for  these  twenty  years,  but  what  I  have 
had  a  peep  in  it :  I  make  it  a  point,  alwars,  to  be  on 
hand/' 

Tom  dropped  his  boot,  and  stared  at  his  visitor  like 
a  wild  man. 

"  Oh,  do  n't  be  frightened,  stranger ;  I  am  as  harm 
less  crittur  as  you  ever  see.  I  am  charitably  disposed  ; 
and  it  is  my  motto,  to  treat  new  comers  with  the  ut 
most  distinction  ;  you  can  take  my  hand  on  that:" 

Tom  took  up  his  boot  again,  and  resumed  his  work. 
"  If  you  know  so  much,  perhaps  you  can  tell  me  whar 
to  find  Mr.  A 11  good,"  said  he. 

"Mr.  All — good?  I  believe  that's  the  old  codger 
what  had  the  hysterics,  when  the  committee  made  a 
levy  on  his  purse,  for  the  benefit  of  the  color'd  race. 
Yes,  I  am  most  sure  of  it ;  you  can  ask  Easy,  he  gen 
erally  is  one  of  the  boys  on  that  question." 

Tom  worked  away  on  the  boots,  until  he  had  cleaned 
them  to  his  satisfaction. 

"  If  you  know  of  any  work  in  de  profession,  send 
um  along;  1  'm  now  in  business  on  my  own  account," 
he  remarked,  as  he  put  on  his  coat  to  go  up  the  hill. 

"Then,  you  are  not  clerking  it  for  Easy? " 


376  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH',    OR 

"  !N"o,  sir:  for  once  in  my  life,  I  am  guiiie  to  sec 
what  I  can  do  for  myself." 

"Success  to  yon,  Tom;  stir  around,  don't  be  bash 
ful  ;  slam  right  up  to  them,  and  tell  what  yon  want  — 
that 's  the  way  to  git  business.  There  's  considerable 
competition  in  your  line,  now  —  -  rices  rule  low.  and, 
I  rather  guess,  considerable  is  done  on  home  account; 
but  no  matter  for  that,  we  are  filling  up  fast,  and  your 
kind  of  stock  is  in  good  demand.'' 

O 

"Thank  'ee ;   I  *m  guine  in  for  my  fortune  now." 

u  Tom,  where  do  you  board  i  " 

"Here,  at  de  depot.  Mr.  Easy  advised  me  to  save 
my  pennies." 

"  Good  !  I  will  call  in  and  help  you.  Eight  glad 
you  have  come  into  this  neighborhood.  Ah !  here 
conies  the  old  man  himself.  Got  a  partner,  have  you, 
Easy?  Yah!  yah!  yah!"  said  the  visitor,  and  made 
for  the  door. 

"What  has  that  ole  fellar  been  doing  in  here?"  in- 

O 

quired  Mr.  Easy.     "lie  is  an  old  rip." 

"So  he  told  me,1'  said  Tom. 

"  What  did  he  tell  you  ?  " 
.     "  He  spoke  his  name,  Old  Kip." 

"Pshaw!  that's  not  his  name;  it;  is  Hard — Jim 
Hard  —  a  poor  creature  ;  drunk,  whenever  he  can  get 
so.  Avoid  him;  he  is  full  of  tongue,  and  seductive," 
said  Mr.  Easy. 

The  fugitive  found  plenty  to  do,  and  nattered  him 
self  that  he  had  opened  the  right  vein,  lie  worked 
assiduously,  for  he  was  ambitious  to  redeem  his  pledge 
to  Dinah.  His  customers  were  abundant,  and  payment 


377 

prompt.  Days  and  weeks  elapsed,  and  finally  months. 
lie  was  surprised,  however,  that  his  coffers  did  not 
fill  up  last.  Although  his  receipts,  considering  the 
business  he  was  following,  were  full  as  large  as  he  had 
any  right  to  anticipate,  still,  after  he  had  made  the 
requisite  drafts  upon  them  to  liquidate  the  rent  of  six 
shillings  per  week  to  Mr.  Easy,  and  supply  himself 
with  the  necessaries  of  life,  the  surplus  remaining  was 
trifling,  and  he  sometimes  almost  despaired  of  ever 
being  able  to  get  farther  ahead.  He  resolved  to  live 
closer,  and  scrimp  his  expenses.  It  was  growing  late 
in  the  season,  and  the  days  were  shorter,  and  there  did 
not  seem  to  be  as  many  chance  patrons.  In  addition 
to  the  expenses  heretofore  incurred  to  keep  his  bodily 
condition  good  for  labor,  he  was  now,  in  the  month  of 
^November,  compelled  to  make  an  outlay  for  fuel,  to 
keep  himself  comfortable,  and  if  he  pursued  his  voca 
tion  after  five  of  the  clock  in  the  afternoon,  he  must 
have  oil  or  candles  to  light  him  the  way  to  perform 
his  work. 

At  the  expiration  of  another  month,  his  purse  was 
empty  before  the  usual  time  for  settlement  with  Mr. 
Easy  ;  and  when,  a  few  mornings  before  Christinas, 
his  landlord  intimated  that  he  should  desire  the  pay 
ment  of  arrears  by  the  twenty-fifth,  so  that  he  might 
meet  his  holiday  engagements,  Tom's  heart  shrunk 
within  him,  for  he  knew  not  from  whence  he  should 
obtain  the  requisite  amount.  Mr.  Easy  noticed  Tonrs 
emotions,  and  upon  learning  the  cause,  suggested  that 
there  was  no  occasion  fur  despondency,  as  he  had  IK> 
doubt  but  that  the  ^'  voting  bucks'1  of  the  citv  who 


378  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH'.    OR 

gave  him  their  patronage,  would  make  him  a  slight 
advance.  This  was  a  new  idea  ;  and  as  he  was  wil 
ling  to  turn  mendicant  for  the  time,  hoping  that  the 
future  had  bigger  gains  in  store  for  him,  and  thus  en 
able  him  to  repay  his  borrowings,  his  mind  became 
easier,  and  he  brushed  and  rubbed  the  boots  and  shoes, 
and  carried  them  to  the  doors  of  his  several  patrons, 
and  made  their  tires,  and  swept  and  dusted  their  apart 
ments,  and  did  short  errands,  with  accustomed  cheer- 
f ulness  arid  promptitude,  lie  did  not  mind  the  snow 
and  cold,  for  his  heart  was  warm  and  vigorous,  and 
his  thoughts  were  as  gay  and  merry  as  the  most  flip 
pant  beau  or  lively  belle  that  dashed  along  the  great 
street  of  the  town. 

Time  had  run  through  all  the  holidays,  and  the 
new  year  was  full  a  month  old.  Tom  was  in  the  depot 
at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  shivering  with  cold.  lie  had 
been  there  all  day,  for  the  snow  drove  through  the  air 
unceasingly  and  furiously,  and  the  footman  could  make 
but  slow  progress,  so  difficult  was  it  to  see,  and  so 
heavy  and  deep  was  the  snow  in  every  direction,  lie 
had  been  alone.  Mr.  Easy  was  ill  with  fever,  and  if 
well,  would  not  have  ventured  out  in  such  a  blustering 
storm.  It  was  after  dark,  and  Tom  had  neither  wood 
nor  candles.  ]Ie  took  every  cent  of  money  in  his  pos 
session  to  Mr.  Easy's  house,  the  day  previous,  to  satisfy 
the  rent.  lie  expected  to  borrow  enough  in  the  morn 
ing  to  purchase  some  wood,  but  the  storm  came  on, 
and  it  was  out  of  the  question  to  get  even  a  small  sup 
ply,  lie  had  a  fragment  of  a  twist  of  bread,  and  a 
small  bit  of  cheese  left  over,  but  that  was  gone  now. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS,  379 

If  he  was  not  moneyless,  it  might  be  worth  while  to 
make  an  effort  to  reach  some  bakery  or  grocery  ;  but 
who  would  trust  him  ?  And  if  he  attempted  to  beg, 
who  would  have  compassion  on  a  man  so  able-bodied, 
and  apparently  so  capable  of  laying  in  his  own  stores? 
He  ruminated  upon  his  destitute  condition,  and  such 
thoughts  loomed  in  his  imagination.  He  sunk  back 
in  the  chair,  and  dropped  his  head  between  his  knees. 
To  say  that  he  cried,  and  that  the  tears  came  gushing 
from  his  eyes  "  thick  and  fast,"  would  be  a  tame  de 
scription  of  his  feelings.  His  mind  was  distracted, 
and  memory  carried  him  back  to  that  lowly  but  com 
fortable  cabin,  which  never  seemed  half  so  dear  before. 
Tie  thought  of  his  wife,  and  those  sweet,  loved  chil 
dren,  and  the  many  scenes  of  domestic  quietude 
through  which  he  so  often  and  pleasantly  passed  ;  and 
how  much  happiness  he  enjoyed,  as  he  grew  from 
infancy  to  manhood.  His  heart  was  sore,  lacerated, 
torn  with  sorrow  and  grief,  and  he  cared  but  little 
whether  or  no  he  gazed  upon  the  light  of  another  sun. 
And  yet,  thought  he,  if  I  should  die,  what,  oh  !  what 
will  become  of  Dinah  !  I  promised  to  send  her  money. 
She  will  think  me  an  ungrateful,  cold-blooded  monster, 
that  I  have  delayed  till  now!  I  told  her,  as  I  flung 
my  arms  about  her  neck,  and  gave  her  that  last  kiss, 
if  I  lived  to  see  the  land  of  freedom,  I  would  send  her 
word  by  the  post;  and  to  this  hour  have  I  broken  my 
most  solemn  promise.  Can  I  add  ignominy  to  per 
jury?  No,  no!  Father  in  heaven!  forgive  me  my 
sins,  save  me  from,  starvation,  and  bless  me  with  the 
light  of  another  day.  The  recollection  that  there  was  a 


380  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

God,  in  this  extremity,  gave  him  courage  and  strength. 
He  bad  not  prayed  for  years.  And  lie  had  not  looked 
into  a  bible  since  the  Sunday  before  he  left  Oakland, 
but  once,  and  then  it  was  accidental.  He  drove  Mrs. 
Brown  to  a  quarterly  meeting  at  Saint  Catharines  — 
a  thriving  village  near  Saint  Davids  —  and  after  they 
returned,  she  handed  it  to  him  to  read  the  chapter 
which  contained  the  next.  We  say,  he  felt  better  after 
he  thought  of  his  religion;  and  although,  every  time 
the  wind  moaned  through  the  crevices  of  his  frail  tene 
ment,  a  sensation  of  terrific  horror  thrilled  through  his 
heart,  his  mind  would  involuntarily  carry  him  to  Cal 
vary,  and  he  thought  his  Saviour  smiled  in  mercy 
upon  his  destitute,  helpless  condition !  He  snw,  or  at 
least  he  thought  he  saw,  Divinity  ;  and  although  the 
shrill,  wintry,  tempestuous  blasts  of  a  northern  lati 
tude  silently  but  constantly  crept  over  his  limbs,  and 
streaked  through  every  part  of  his  body,  this  warmed 
his  heart  and  banished  loneliness.  Ills  feelings  be 
came  less  excited,  and  he  laid  down  upon  his  bed  to 
await  in  patience  the  coming  of  another  day. 

The  clouds  had  cleared  away,  the  wind  was  hushed— 
the  elements  were  calm,  and  the  sun  shone  brightly, 
when  Tom  opened  his  eyes  on  the  ensuing  morning. 
He  crawled  out  from  beneath  the  pile  of  clothes,  which 
he  contrived  in  the  darkness  to  draw,  one  after  the 
other,  upon  his  shivering  body,  and  made  an  effort 
to  go  outside  the  door.  But  his  progress  was  arrested 
by  a  huge  bank  of  snow  at  the  entrance,  lie  needed 
a  shovel,  or  spade,  or  something  of  the  kind,  to  make 
an  opening.  lie  seized  the  poker,  and  undertook  to 


U.NCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  381 

break  a  path,  but  the  snow  lay  so  compact  and  deep 
that  he  did  not  make  much  headway.  He  had  not 
eaten  anything  but  a  morsel  of  bread  and  cheese,  in 
the  past  twenty-four  hours,  and  was  weak.  He  again 
began  to  despair,  and  lament  his  obstinacy.  If  he  had 
taken  Dinah's  counsel,  and  turned  a  deaf  ear  to  mass'r 
Bates,  he  should  not  now  be  contending  with  cold  and 
hunger. 

He  thought  he  would  try  another  expedient  to  make 
a  path,  by  throwing  the  whole  weight  of  his  body 
upon  the  snow,  and  wallowing  through  it.  He  met 
with  no  better  success ;  and  exhausted  by  the  effort, 
he  gave  up  the  undertaking,  and  remained  in  the  drift, 
for  it  was  as  difficult  to  go  back  as  forward.  A  dizzi 
ness  came  over  him,  and  the  light  receded  from  his 
vision.  He  wras  soon  senseless,  and  his  limbs  stiffened 
with  the  cold.  He  had  lain  in  this  condition  some 
time,  when  a  passer-by  upon  the  sidewalk  above,  hap 
pening  to  cast  his  eyes  downward  into  the  hollow, 
observed  him,  and  supposing  that  he  was  dead,  did  not 
hail  him;  but  in  humanity  communicated  the  informa 
tion  to  an  overseer  of  the  poor.  Lest  all  vitality  might 
not  yet  be  extinguished,  this  messenger  of  charity 
hastened  to  remove  the  body  from  the  snow,  and  ere 
long  had  it  deposited  in  a  store  near  by.  The  overseer 
found  that  the  man  breathed,  and  he  applied  the 
necessary  restoratives. 

Luckily,  Tom  had  the  full  benefit  of  an  unclouded 
sun,  as  he  lay  in  his  perilous  position,  or  the  frost  would 
have  nipped  the  seat  of  life.  It  was  not  long,  however, 
lifter  his  body  felt  the  genial  influence  of  a  warm  fire. 


382  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OH 

before  he  began  to  throw  off  the  stupor  and  return  to 
his  senses, 

lie  was  bewildered.  He  had  been  dreaming.  It 
was  not  reality.  How  came  he  in  the  store?  And 
who  was  this  man,  pouring  oil  upon  his  swollen  hands 
and  inflamed  limbs?  It  was  not  mass'r  Gravity,  and 
yet  he  seemed  to  be  as  attentive  and  obliging,  in  alle 
viating  his  pains  and  soothing  his  wounds. 

Tom  iinally  appreciated  these  acts  of  benevolence, 
and  felt  thankful  that  he  was  not  left  to  die.  He  told 
the  merchant,  in  brief,  the  history  of  his  life  for  the 
past  four  years,  and  how  difficult  he  now  found  it,  to 
procure  the  means  of  subsistence. 

"  Buffalo  is  a  hard  place,  in  the  winter,  for  the  poor — 
nothing  to  do,"  said  the  merchant,  having  less  pity  for 
the  negro  because  he  abandoned  so  good  quarters  at 
the  South. 

"  I  do  not  find  the  place  mass'r  Bates  described  to 
us  so  often.'1 

"  And  yon  never  will,"  added  the  merchant. 

"  It  can't  be  possible  dat  he  meant  to  deceive,"  said 
Tom,  raising  himself  partly  up  from  the  blanket. 

"It  is  possible  —  it  is  a  fact,  and  so  you  will  find, 
that  he  deceived  you ;  whether  he  meant  to  do  it,  is  a 
question  for  his  own  conscience,"  replied  the  merchant. 

"I  almost  beirin  to  believe  YOU.     I  find  everything 

Jr>  •'  .-  o 

different  from  what  I  expected,"  said  Tom,  again  laying 
down. 

u  Hard  times,  eh  ?" 

"  Yas,  sir,  hard  times  ;  do  n't  see  sich  in  ole  Vir 
gin  ny." 


383 

"  If  I  was  in  your  place,  I  should  make  tracks  for 
my  cabin  the  first  opportunity.  I  should  n't  mind  the 
being  free.  Slavery,  with  plenty  to  eat  and  drink,  and 
enough  to  wear,  before  freedom  and  starvation,  would 
be  my  motto,"  said  the  merchant. 

Tom  groaned  sorrowfully. 

"It's  thawin'  out,  eh?  Poor  fellow,  I  pity  you; 
but  you  must  grin  and  bear  it.  Mr.  Long  has  done 
the  fair  thing  by  you.  What  an  untiring  fellow  Long 
is  !  Always  at  his  post,  rain  or  shine,  cold  or  hot.  I 
declare,  I  do  n't  know  what  all  the  poor  people  would 
do,  down  there  in  the  first  ward,  if  it  was  n't  for  him. 
They  say  he  is  getting  rich  ;  I  hope  such  is  the  case; 
he  ought  to  get  rich.  The  town  would  be  overrun  with 
beggars,  if  it  was  n't  for  him.  Would  you  like  to 
chaw  a  cracker,  Tom  ?  "  asked  the  merchant. 

"  Thank  'e  ;    I   hab   eatin'    noffin   since    yesterday 


morning." 


"  How  do  you  feel?"  asked  the  merchant,  preferring 
to  remove  him,  if  he  was  threatened  with  illness,  to 
some  other  place. 

"  Bad,  sir  ;  berry  bad  ;  I  'm  afeerd  this  freezing  will 
throw  me  into  sickness.  I  dunno  what  will  become  of 
me,"  replied  the  negro,  dejected,  and  caring  but  little 
what  did  become  of  him. 

"I  think  you  would  do  better,  if  placed  in  a  more 
comfortable  bed.  Besides,  the  noise  of  business  will 
retard  your  convalescence.  Are  you  not  acquainted 
with  some  person  of  your  own  color?  " 

"  I  knowM  Jim  Hard." 

"Humph!  that   old    rip  has   no  place  for  you;    I 


384:  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

should  n't  wonder  if  lie  was  under  the  snow  him-elf, 
But  it's  all  the  same;  there  is  no  danger  of  his  stiff 
ening;  he  carries  too  much  whiskey  in  his  holler  ever 
to  get  cold." 

"  Also,  Mr.  Easy." 

"Easy  —  let  me  see  —  ah!  yes;  Easy  I  know.  In 
good  circumstances,  and  very  likely  man.  TV  ell,  I  '11 
send  up  and  see  what  he  can  do  for  you.  Lives  on 
Vine  street,  I  believe,"  said  the  merchant ;  and  call 
ing  Ins  porter,  directed  him  to  go  and  inform  },Ir.  Easy 
of  Tom's  situation.  The  invalid  was  requested  to 
make  himself  as  comfortable  in  the  meantime,  as  his 
situation  would  permit. 


UNCLE  TOM  S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  385 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

UNCLE    TOM'S    SOLILOQUY. 

The  fugitive's  body  was  badly  frozen ;  fever  ensued, 
and  he  was  thrown  into  sickness  for  several  weeks. 
Mr.  Easy  could  not  accommodate  him  with  a  separate 
room,  being  ill  himself;  but  fortunately  he  found  con 
venient  accommodations  in  a  colored  family  that  lived 
upon  the  same  street.  He  received  kind  attention  and 
careful  nursing ;  and  although  his  life  was  despaired 
of,  when  the  disease  was  at  its  crisis,  a  rushed  consti- 

*  r?o 

tution,  under  the  management  of  a  skillful  physician, 
withstood  the  furious  disease,  and  the  fever  abated. 
It  was  long  after  the  snow  disappeared,  however,  before 
he  could  walk  with  comfort. 

Tom  was  anxious  to  resume  his  profession  ;  for  the 
good,  attentive  doctor  must  not  only  be  paid,  but  he 
had  run  in  debt  for  medicine.  And  last,  though  by 
no  means  least  in  his  heart,  was  the  desire  to  recom 
pense  with  liberality  the  faithful  nurse,  who  unremit 
tingly  stood  by  his  bedside  to  administer  to  all  his 
little  wants,  and  soothe  and  pacify  him  in  his  sickest 


3S6  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  ;    Oli 

hours.  ~No  sum  of  money  seemed  too  large  to  give 
her.  He  had  the  beneiit  of  her  fuel  and  lights  for 
weeks,  in  the  coldest  of  winter.  The  price  fur  these 
articles  was  high,  and  she  was  in  need  of,  and  ought 
to  hdve  what  she  had  actually  paid  out  immediately. 
She  "took  in  washing"  to  raise  the  moans  of  defray 
ing  the  maintenance  of  herself  and  children,  her  hus 
band  having  died  some  two  years  before.  And  to 
meet  the  rent  on  April  quarter-day,  she  had  been  com 
pelled  to  borrow  from  a  friend. 

Tom's  old  customers  had  gone  elsewhere  to  get  their 
boots  cleaned,  and  he  must  look  up  new  patrons.  The 
owner  of  the  hollow  had  torn  down  the  depot,  prepar 
atory  to  the  erection  of  larger  and  more  substantial 
buildings,  and  it  was  necessary  to  find  new  quarters. 
He  hobbled  down  the  hill,  the  first  day  it  was  deemed 
prudent  for  him  "to  venture  out,"  and  looked  among 
the  rubbish  for  his  brushes,  and  the  boxes  of  blacking 
which  he  purchased  the  day  previous  to  the  snow 
storm.  But  he  could  not  find  them,  and  his  stock  in 
trade  had  not  only  vanished,  but  with  it  had  gone  also 
the  implements  of  his  profession,  lie  thought  he  was 
worse  off  than  when  he  first  came  to  Buffalo,  lie  was 
not  so  much  of  a  stranger  now,  but  he  then  was  free  from 
debt,  and  had  money  in  his  purse.  .Now,  he  had  none, 
and  a  debt  which  appeared  lar^e  in  his  eves  now  hung 

j.    J.  O  •>  O 

over  him;  and  that  too  of  the  most  sacred  character. 
He  limped  back  to  Vine  street,  and  frankly  told  the 
washer-woman  his  situation.  She  was  not  prepared  to 
hear  it ;  for,  in  the  wild  paroxysms  of  a  delirious  brain, 
he  often  talked  of  money,  fortune,  palaces,  and  the 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.  387 

like,  and  the  humble  nurse  thought  her  patient  to  be 
ambitious  in  health,  and  favored  with  a  reasonable 
share  of  tins  world's  goods.  And  now,  when  the 
honest  boot- black  told  her  the  simple  truth,  it  was  an 
awful  disappointment.  She  regretted  that  she  had 
labored  under  such  great  misapprehension,  and  yet 
was  not  sorry  that  she  had  been  able  to  be  so  charit 
able  to  the  poor  fugitive.  lie  still  enjoyed  her  benefi 
cence,  and  she  disliked  to  turn  him  away.  But  it  was 
necessary  to  devise  some  means  to  enable  him  to  com 
mence  business  again  on  his  own  account.  He  could 
hire  out  as  a  servant,  but  then  he  was  lame,  and  prob 
ably  would  continue  so  for  months  to  come.  lie  told 
her  about  his  friend,  Mr.  Allgood,  and  how  he  had  not 
yet  seen  him.  She  found  a  directory,  in  the  grocery 
on  the  opposite  side  of  the  street,  and  learned  where 
the  gentleman  was  to  be  found ;  and  it  was  deemed 

o 

proper  and  advisable  for  the  fugitive  to  give  him 
a  call. 

Tom  was  not  so  well  the  next  day,  and  it  was  wet 
and  blustering.  lie  did  not  go  out.  The  next  day 
succeeding,  he  felt  the  effects  of  venturing  uto  the 
hollow,"  as  he  called  it.  He  had  taken  cold,  and  the 
good  washer-woman  would  not  consent  that  he  should 
so  soon  again  expose  himself  to  the  inclement  weather. 
He  accordingly  remained  within  doors.  It  was,  per 
haps  a  week  before  he  sought  out  Mr.  Allgood.  lie 
had  tried,  many  a  time,  to  find  him,  but  unenlightened 
by  the  directory,  his  travels  through  the  many  streets 
of  Buffalo  were  in  vain.  He  never  enjoyed  that  pleas 
ure.  Unable  to  appreciate  the  mentor  who  had  been 


388  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

consulted  by  his  friend,  he  did  not  now,  to  tell  tl-o 
truth,  entertain  very  sanguine  hopes  of  seeing  him. 
But  necessity,  the  mother  of  invention,  was,  in  his 
case  at  least,  the  mother  of  exertion.  He  started  out 
From  Vine  street,  determined  to  find  the  object  of  his 
search,  if  possible.  He  followed  the  direction ;  and 
within  half  an  hour,  was  ushered  into  his  presence. 
Strange  to  say,  Tom  rung  the  bell  at  the  front  door; 
and,  what  was  still  more  remarkable,  the  servant  who 
answered  it  invited  him  to  be  seated  in  the  sitting- 
room.  Mr.  Allgood  soon  made  his  appearance. 

"  Ah !  you  are  the  man  I  saw  at  Saint  Davids,  I 
think,"  said  he,  as  he  entered  the  room. 

f  f    "V  T  '         ^  1 

"  i  as,  sir. 

"So,  you  adopted  my  advice,  and  have  come  to 
Buffalo,  have  you  ? " 

"Yas,  sir;  I  thought  I  couldn't  do  better,"  replied 
Tom,  in  a  bashful  and  hesitating  voice. 

"  Well,  this  is  a  good  season  of  the  year.  You  will 
meet  with  no  difficulty  in  succeeding,  if  you  are  indus 
trious.  You  must  work,  though;  the  people  in  the 
States  work." 

"  Yas,  sir,"  replied  Tom,  in  a  still  meeker  voice. 

"What  do  you  propose  to  do?"  inquired  Mr.  All- 
good,  noticing  that  the  fugitive  answered  in  mono 
syllables. 

"Wait  on  gemmen,  sir,"  said  Torn,  in  a  still  meeker 
voice,  if  it  was  possible  so  to  do. 

"Wait  on  gentlemen,  did  you  say?"  quickly  asked 
Mr.  Allgood,  rather  surprised  at  the  answer. 

"  Yas,  sir." 


S89 

"In  what  capacity,  pray?  " 

"  Cleaning  their  boots,  rooms,  and  the  like,  sir." 

"  Ah !  well,  perhaps  that  may  pay,"  replied  Mr. 
Allgood,  somewhat  disappointed ;  for  he  thought,  as 
he  was  an  able-bodied  man,  he  would  aspire  to  some 
higher  and,  as  he  viewed  it,  more  lucrative  employ 
ment.  "  You  must  be  active,  and  up  early  and  late. 
If  so,  there  will  be  no  difficulty  in  succeeding,"  he 
added,  after  a  pause. 

"Yas,  sir;  I  have  had  some  experience  in  de  pro* 
fession,"  said  the  fugitive,  with  evident  reluctance. 

"  Have  you,  indeed !     Where,  pray  ? " 

"  Here,  in  dis  town,"  replied  Tom. 

"In  Buffalo!  when?"  inquired  Mr.  Allgood,  in 
astonishment. 

"  Oh !  yas,  sir ;  dat  I  have,"  replied  Tom ;  and  at 
the  same  time  drawing  a  long,  deep  sigh. 

"When?  I  ask.  It  was  my  impression  you  now 
visited  our  city  for  the  first  time." 

"  Oh  !  sir,  I  came  across  the  river  right  away  arter 
I  saw  you  at  Saint  Davids,  last  fall,"  said  Tom,  with 
more  courage,  and  in  a  fuller  tone  of  voice. 

"  You  have  been  here  since  last  fall,  and  have  not 
let  me  see  you  until  now ! " 

"  I  inquired  arter  you  often,  but  was  so  busy  in  my 
profession  dat  I  had  no  time  to  hunt  you  up,"  said 
Tom,  beginning  to  feel  less  a  stranger. 

"Well,  I  am  happy  you  have  called  upon  me  at 
last,"  remarked  Mr.  Allgood  in  a  very  bland  voice. 

"  I  know'd  you  would  be  glad  to  see  me ;  I  told  Nelly 
BO,"  said  Tom,  his  countenance  beaming  with  pleasure. 
17 


S90  LIFE   AT    THE   SOUTH;    OB 

"And  who  is  Nelly,  pray?1' 

"Oh!  she  is  the  washwoman  on  Yine  street.  I 
did  n't  know  but  you  might  recollect  her,  sir." 

"  Oh  !  —  ah  !  —  Nelly —  not  far  from  Easy's  house. 
Yes  —  yes;  I  do  now  call  her  to  mind.  Honest 
woman !  Do  you  stay  there  ? " 

"  Yas,  sir,  I  board  there,"  replied  Tom  ;  and  if  Mr. 
Allgood  had  taken  the  trouble,  he  would  have  seen  a 
tear  or  two  glisten  in  the  eyes  of  the  fugitive ;  but  his 
attention  just  then  was  called  to  the  street  to  see  a 
pair  of  handsome  blood  bays  trot  by  at  full  speed. 

"Well,  can  I  do  anything  for  you?"  inquired  Mr. 
Allgood,  turning  from  the  window. 

"Dat's  why  I  spoke  to  Nelly  'bout  coming  here," 
said  Tom,  regretting  that  he  postponed  the  visit  so 
long.  "  I  come  to  see  if  you  would  help  me." 

Mr.  Allgood  seemed  puzzled.  He  did  not  compre 
hend  why  the  fugitive  should  so  soon  be  in  want.  Tom 
explained. 

"  I  am  afraid  that  you  was  not  sufficiently  industri 
ous.  Do  you  drink?"  inquired  Mr.  Allgood,  after 
hearing  the  negro  through. 

"No,  mass'r,  neber;  I  despise  urn." 

"  Your  sickness  is  natural  enough  ;  and  I  recollect 
the  storm  well.  Unusual ;  and  it  came  on  suddenly. 
We  had  a  warm  January,  though ;  the  ice  had  not 
formed  even  in  'the  creek.'  And,  really,  if  you  was 
steady  and  stuck  to  your  business ;  I  can't  understand 
why  you  should  have  been  so  necessitous." 

"  I  hab  told  you  de  truth,  mass'r.  I  paid  to  Mr 
Easy  all  my  money,  to  the  last  cent." 


391 

"  I  guess  you  must  have  taken  a  cruise  with  Hard, 
occasionally.  Bad  man  —  very  bad  man  ;  never  does 
anything  but  drink,  and  loiter  around  the  tippling 
shops.  He  was  so  near  you,  I  am  afraid  you  some 
times  kept  him  company.  It  was  a  wrong  neighbor 
hood.  But,  you  must  live  and  learn,  I  suppose.  I 
am  sorry." 

"It  is  no  sich  thing,  mass'r ;  dis  nigger  'tended  his 
own  business.  I  took  the  advice  you  gib  me  at  Saint 
Davids ;  up  early  an'  late  ;  my  trouble  am  'evitable," 
said  Tom  with  much  pertness  of  manner.  "  You  in 
jure  my  feelings,  mass'r  Allgood,  when  you  talk  so; 
dat  you  do,"  he  added  in  a  more  subdued  tone. 

"  Pshaw  !  you  should  n't  get  angry.  I  am  a  plain, 
blunt  man ;  I  always  express  my  sentiments  freely." 

" Dat  I  do  n't  mind  so  much,  mass'r;  it 's  de  down 
right  falsehood  what  wakes  me  up." 

"Well,  I  guess  you  are  pretty  honest;  the  story 
hangs  well  together,  at  any  rate.  I  must  go  down 
town  ;  call  and  see  me  again  ;  shall  be  always  glad  to 
learn  of  your  prosperity,"  remarked  Mr.  Allgood,  and 
opened  the  door. 

"You  are  not  guiiie  to  turn  um  off  so,  mass'r,  are 
you  ?  Nelly  thought  you  would  be  so  good  as  to  help 
poor  Tom  along  a  bit ;  I  dislikes  to  turn  beggar,  but 
if  you  could  help  me  to  a  few  dollars,  it  would  be  of 
great  sarvice.  I  should  go  right  into  business  agin," 
said  the  fugitive,  with  a  trembling  voice,  and  hat  in 
his  hand,  ready  to  leave. 

"  I  husband  my  resources  ;  I  can't  afford  to  be  giv 
ing,  every  day,"  said  Mr. ^ Allgood,  shaking  his  head. 


392  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

"  You  mistake  my  meaning,  mass'r;  I  only  want  to 
borrow,  for  a  short  time.  I  s'pect  to  pay  back  in  a  few 
weeks  ;  lXrelly  said  that 's  what  I  'in  to  do." 

"  Pooh !  any  money  I  may  give  you,  will  not  come 
back ;  I  shall  never  see  it  again,"  remarked  Mr.  All- 
good,  gruffly. 

Tom  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say.  lie  thought  his 
friend  had  no  heart ;  he  expected  different  treatment. 
He  stood  a  moment,  rumbling  his  hat,  and  become 
more  angry  than  sorrowful.  Mr.  Allgood  went  into 
the  hall,  and  returned  with  an  overcoat,  and  put  it  on. 

"Come,  sir,  time  is  precious  with  me;  I  must  go 
down  town,"  said  he. 

Tom  was  not  in  so  great  hurry. 

"You  refuse  to  help  me,  then?  Blast  the  white 
man's  friendship  !  down  South,  the  poor  negro  would 
not  be  left  to  shift  in  clis  way." 

"  Can't  help  it ;  I  must  husband  my  money." 

"Are  you  not  the  friend  of  color'd  man?" 

"  Certainly  ;  I  lend  all  my  influence  to  benefit  their 
lowly,  down-trodden  condition  ;  but  when  it  comes  to 
giving  money  outright  to  the  slave,  that 's  more  than 
I  contracted  for.  It  is  enough  for  me  to  spend  my 
time  in  getting  up  and  attending  meetings,  and  dis 
cussing  the  subject ;  that,  let  me  tell  you,  costs 
money.  ]S"o,  no ;  if  we  are  able  to  run  you  into 
freedom,  that 's  all  that  can  be  expected.  You  must 
now  take  care  of  yourself,"  replied  Mr.  Allgood, 
with  much  emphasis,  and  Tom  followed  him  into 
the  street,  and  with  a  dejected  spirit,  bid  him  good 


393 

Mr.  Allgood,  glad  to  get  rid  of  his  acquaintance, 
walked  rapidly  along  the  sidewalk,  and  suddenly 
turning  around  a  corner,  relieved  him  sell'  of  the 
negro's  company.  The  broken-hearted  fugitive  picked 
his  way  back  to  Yine  street.  Hie  task  was  irksome, 
for  the  walk  was  icy  in  many  places,  and  as  yet  he 
could  not  dispense  with  the  crutch. 

"  Tom,  you  look  down  in  the  mouth, "  said  Nelly, 
as  he  hobbled  up  the  steps.  "Bad  luck?" 

"Yes,  the  world  goes  wrong  with  me." 

"Didn't  you  see  Mr.  Allgood?" 

"Yas,  Nelly;  but  dar  was  no  good  for  dis  body. 
All  wrong ! "  said  the  fugitive  with  a  sigh,  and  helping 
himself  to  a  chair. 

"  What !  you  do  n't  say  that  gentleman  turned  you 
away  empty  ? " 

"It's  true,  Nelly." 

"  Good  gracious !  who  would  have  thought  it  ? " 

"Bad  people  in  dis  world;  I  'm  tired  of  living." 

"  Well,  well ;  I  Ve  no  more  to  say,  if  Mr.  Allgood 
turns  his  back  on  us  color'd  people,  too.  Why,  he 
pretends  the  greatest  friendship.  I  must  run  over  and 
tell  Easy.  He  will  be  thunderstruck.  Oh!  he  is 
now  off  arter  ole  clothes ;  I  '11  see  him  at  noon." 

"  Mass'r  Allgood,  I  reckon,  thinks  more  of  pennies 
than  souls." 

"  I  can't  believe  it,  Tom.  If  I  did  n't  know  you,  I 
would  n't  believe  it,  so  there  !  Why,  how  often  I  have 
seen  him  come  into  the  church,  and  join  in  the  exer 
cises  ;  it  is  n't  four  weeks,  hardly — jist  afore  'lection — 


394:  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

since  he  actually  come  to  our  prayer-meeting  !  I  can't 
believe  it  —  I  don't  believe  it,  so,  now!  Yon  misun 
derstood  him,  Tom.  Why,  if  he  had  actually  put  his 
hand  into  his  pocket,  and  took  out  a  ten-dollar  bill, 
he  would  n't  have  missed  it  an  hour  afterwards.  What 
does  he  care  for  money  ?  he  has  oceans  of  it.  Why, 
come  to  think  of  it,  I  heard  him  say,  with  his  own 
lips,  last  winter,  standing  over  there  at  the  corner  gro 
cery,  and  of  his  own  accord,  that  he  would  give  half 
his  fortune  to  root  slavery  out  of  the  country  !  Tom, 
I  'm  suspicious  you  got  hold  the  wrong  man.  Where 
did  you  go  ?  tell  the  truth,  now,"  said  Kelly. 
"  To  de  place  you  told  of." 
"  Did  you  actually  call  him  by  name?" 
"To  be  sure,  I  did,  several  times  —  no  mistake. 
An'  don't  you  s'pose  I  know'd  him?  Did  n't  I  seed 
him  at  Saint  Davids  ?  and  did  n't  he  say  to  me  to 
come  to  dis  town  ?  Ko,  no,  no  ;  I  know'd  who  I  was 
talkin'  to,  Nelly.  It  was  no  body  else,  but  mass'r  All- 
good  :  it  was  de  man  himself." 

"Well,  you  speak  so  reasonable,  I  s'pects  I  must 
believe  you,"  replied  the  washer-woman,  reluctantly 
giving  credit  to  Tom's  assertion. 

The  gate  that  opened  into  a  little  yard  in  front  of 
the  house  creaked,  accompanied  with  a  sort  of  crash, 
as  if  something  had  fallen.  Kelly  run  to  the  window. 
"  If  there  is  n't  that  old  rip,  Jim  Hard  !  Fell  down 
on  the  sidewalk,  and  tipsy  as  a  lord,  I  '11  be  bound  ! 
Yah,  yah,  yah!  he's  try  in'  to  come  in;  how  he  stag 
gers  !  What  in  creation  has  brought  him  up  here  so 
early  in  the  morning? "  exclaimed  Kelly. 


UISCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  A8  IT  IS.  895 

Tom  hopped  to  the  window,  also,  and  the  washer 
woman  went  to  the  door  and  opened  it. 

u  What 's  wanted  ?"  she  asked. 

"  Do  you  keep  neighbor  Tom  here,  yet  ? "  answered 
Hard. 

"  Yes." 

"  What  are  you  doing  with  so  much  ice — keeping  it 
for  summer,  eh?  I  shall  complain  to  his — hie  — 
honor — hie  —  I  think — hie — Nelly.  Clear  the  road — 
hie — and  give  this  vessel  room — hie — to  sail  into  har 
bor,"  said  the  old  negro,  and  made  an  effort  to  enter 
the  house. 

"  This  is  no  place  for  you,  Mr.  Hard,  so  you  can 
jist  move  back,  and  go  your  way,"  said  Nelly,  and  put 
her  hands  upon  his  shoulders,  to  prevent  his  entrance. 
She  did  not  push  him,  lest  he  might  fall  over  back 
wards.  He  struggled,  and  begged  to  be  admitted. 

"  Let  the  old  fellar  come  in,  and  rest,"  said  Tom ; 
"  he  will  do  no  harm." 

u  Too  early  in  the  morning  to  excuse  such  free  drink 
ing.  He  ought  to  know  better  than  to  come  away  up 
here  into  Yine  street  with  such  a  jog.  He  won't  do 
much  hurt ;  come  along,  but  mind  and  be  quiet,"  said 
Nelly,  finally  consenting  to  let  the  old  negro  pass  the 
door. 

Hard  availing  himself  of  the  permission,  stumbled 
into  the  hall,  and  the  washer-woman  closed  the  door, 
for  she  did  not  wish  the  people  in  that  vicinity  to  think 
she  kept  a  disorderly  house  —  she  had  too  much  pride 
of  character. 

Hard  had  not  seen  Tom  since  the  snow-storm,  and 


396  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

learning  his  whereabouts,  took  it  into  his  head  to  call 
up  and  see  him.  The  old  negro  possessed  a  kind  dis 
position,  and  was  harmless  ;  his  fault  was  constant 
and  excessive  drinking.  Whisky  was  his  beverage, 
and  how  he  continued  to  get  it,  at  all  times,  was  the 
wonder  to  those  who  knew  him.  He  rarely  engaged 
in  any  work,  except  to  do  occasional  errands.  He  was 
known  to  beg  his  clothing,  and  it  was  generally  sup 
posed,  that  he  begged  his  whisky,  also.  He  took  con 
siderable  fancy  to  Tom — not  because  the  latter  could 
be  considered  a  boon  companion,  for,  to  his  praise,  be 
it  said,  he  let  liquor  alone.  The  truth  was,  Hard 
first  saw  the  light  in  middle  Tennessee,  and  never 
having  paid  his  master  the  price  of  his  services,  was 
equally  a  fugitive  with  Tom.  "  Birds  of  a  feather 
floe!'  together,"  and  hence  his  partiality  for  the  boot- 
1  .ack.  He  had  drank  too  much  on  the  morning  in 
question  to  be  talkative ;  probably  it  was  a  continua 
tion  of  the  previous  day's  carousing.  Nelly  allowed 
him  to  occupy  the  big  rocking-chair,  and  he  fell  into  a 
doze.  He  waked  up  in  time  for  dinner,  and  learning 
that  his  brother  fugitive  had  not  re-established  himself 
in  business,  proposed  a  co-partnership.  The  washer 
woman  cut  the  conversation  short,  by  suggesting  that 
his  company  was  anything  but  agreeable,  and  the  old 
negro,  after  displaying  much  ill-temper  that  Nelly 
should  interfere  with  his  private  affairs,  left  the  house. 
Tom  did  not  venture  out  again,  but  kept  within 
doors,  brooding  over  his  disappointments.  A  critical 
obserr-  -i  would  have  come  to  the  conclusion  that  his 
tb  ughts  were  not  all  the  time  confined  to  the  great 


397 

city  in  which  he  then  happened  to  be,  but  occasionally 
were  roaming  in  another  clime.  Nelly  took  occasion 
to  inform  her  neighbor  Easy  of  the  interview  with  Mr. 
Allgood,  and  both  were  surprised.  "  Can  it  be  true," 
they  both  said,  "  that  he  was  becoming  lukewarm  in 
the  cause  ? " 

Kelly  began  to  evince  some  impatience  to  have  Tom 
at  work,  and  it  was  arranged  that  he  should  use  the 
kitchen,  if  he  could  find  any  customers,  and  trust  to 
luck  to  get.  sufficient  money  to  repay  what  she  bor 
rowed.  Mr.  Easy  advised  this  course,  and  his  views 
usually  were  found  to  be  correct. 

Accordingly,  the  next  day  Tom  went  up  to  Main 
street,  and  looked  around  for  work.  He  strolled  some 
distance,  and  finally  met  the  merchant,  who  stopped, 
and  kindly  inquired  after  his  health. 

"  Your  appearance  indicates  that  you  have  had  a 
siege.  Not  entirely  over  it  yet,  I  presume,"  said  lie. 

"  Thank  'ee,  sir ;  hard  sick,"  replied  Tom,  at  the 
same  time  uncovering  his  head,  and  making  a  respect 
ful  bow. 

"  At  your  old  trade,  I  perceive,"  said  the  merchant, 
pointing  to  a  pair  of  boots  dangling  upon  Tom's  arm. 

"  Yas,  sir;  dis  is  my  first  job." 

"  Ah  !  "  politely  exclaimed  the  merchant. 

"  Yes,  sir,  I  'm  hard  up  ;  much  in  debt." 

"  Well,  if  you  have  your  health,  there  's  no  occasion 
for  low  spirits  ;  you  must  work  the  harder;  I  under 
stood  you  to  say,  you  left  your  master.  I  can't  say  I 
approve  of  that ;  but  I  like  your  looks,  and  pity  your 

misfortune.     My  clerks,  I  presume,  will  patronize  you. 
17* 


398  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OB 

Give  them  a  call,"  said  the  merchant,  and  passed 
along. 

Tom  felt  encouraged  ;  these  few  words  were  cheer- 
in  ff  to  his  heart,  and  when  he  reached  the  merchant's 

O  ' 

door,  he  took  the  liberty  to  walk  in.  He  was  recog 
nized  as  the  negro  whom  Mr.  Long  brought  into  the 
store  for  dead. 

"  It 's  the  same  old  fellow,  by  jings  !  "  said  one  of  the 
clerks. 

"  I  never  expected  to  see  him  again,"  said  another. 

"I'll  be  hanged  if  Jack  Frost  did  n't  put  his  grip  on 
you ! "  said  the  porter,  going  up  to  him  to  take  a  closer 
view. 

All,  he  thought,  were  glad  to  see  him  alive,  and  put 
him  many  questions.  In  the  meantime,  the  merchant 
himself  came  in. 

uBoys,"  said  he,  "  can't  you  give  the  old  man  a 
lift?  He  tells  me,  he  wants  work  in  his  line." 

"  Yes,  he  can  take  iny  boots,"  said  one. 

"  There  's  a  coat  you  can  tinker  up,"  said  another. 

"  Then  you  run  under,  did  you,  Tom  ?  "  asked  the 
merchant. 

"  Yas,  sir,  to  my  sorrow  ;  it  threw  me  out  of  busi 
ness,  an'  I  am  in  debt  to  Kelly." 

"  And  pray,  who  is  Nelly  ? " 

Tom  explained. 

"  Oh,  I  know  her,"  said  one  of  the  clerks,  "  she  has 
washed  for  me,  and  does  her  work  well." 

"  How  much  do  you  stand  in  her  debt,  Tom  ? " 

"  Not  far  from  twenty  dollars,  I  s'pects." 


S99 

"If  I  lend  yon  a  quarter  of  it,  do  you  believe  you 

can  ever  refund  it  ?  "  asked  the  merchant. 

• 

"  I  '11  try,  sir,  if  you  will  be  so  berry  good." 

"  Well,  there  it  is.  The  holidays  did  not  bring  you 
any  presents,  I  take  it." 

"  No,  mass'r,  no ;  poor  Tom  was  groaning  with  pain, 
then." 

"  Well,  you  have  one  now ;  so  cheer  up,"  said  the 
merchant,  with  a  pleasant  smile. 

Tom  took  the  money;  but  his  heart  was  so  full  of 
thanks  that  he  knew  not  what  to  say  in  return. 

u  De  Lor' bless  you,  mass'r — de  Lor  bless  you!" 
he  at  last  uttered,  and  with  many  bows  to  the  mer 
chant  and  his  clerks,  left  the  store,  and  returned  to 
Yine  street. 

"I  wonder  if  Allgood  would  have  done  that?" 
remarked  the  merchant,  after  Tom  shut  the  door. 

The  unexpected  beneficence,  and  coming  from  a  man 
with  such  views  upon  the  slavery  question  as  this  mer 
chant  was  known  to  entertain,  excited  the  wonder  of 
Mr.  Easy,  and  constituted  his  principal  topic  of  con 
versation  for  weeks  to  come.  Neither  was  he  idle  in 
circulating  the  intelligence.  The  fugitive  cared  but 
little  about  the  merchant's  views  ;  he  was  thankful  for 
the  well-timed  charity,  and  it  encouraged  him  to  make 
efforts  to  gain  a  respectable  subsistence.  He  fre 
quently  called  at  the  store,  to  take  away  and  carry 
back  the  boots  and  clothes,  as  well  for  himself  as  for 
Nelly,  and  never  failed  to  remember  his  benefactor. 
Lameness  had  left  his  body,  although  the  deep  scars 
of  the  frost  king  still  remained.  His  receipts  were  not 


400  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

as  large  as  they  were  when  he  worked  in  the  hollow, 
but  the  quarters  were  more  agreeable,  and  with  econ 
omy,  he  continued  to  pay  his  way. 

He  tried  to  be  happy  ;  he  was  determined  to  be 
happy.  He  had  traveled,  lie  knew  not  how  far ;  aban 
doned  Dinah — -the  children  ;  took  his  last  look  at  the 
cabin ;  wandered  over  bog  and  through  swamps ;  en 
camped  in  the  forest,  with  no  weapons  but  his  own 
sinewy  arms  to  repel  the  attack  of  man  or  beast ;  gone 
asleep,  with  the  eternal  howl  of  the  wolf,  and  the 
sharp,  frantic,  piercing  cries  of  the  panthers,  chaunting 
their  hideous,  terrific  anthems  ;  swam  the  cold,  shiver 
ing  waters  of  the  St.  Lawrence ;  and  lain  for  days  at 
the  very  portals  of  that  dark  valley — the  shadow  of 
death!  he  had  endured  enough  to  be  a  freeman! 
"Why,"  thought  he,  "  why  should  I  not  now  enjoy  its 
beatitude?" 

It  was  an  evening — we  said  evening!  it  was  nearer 
"the  noon  of  night," — the  clay  had  been  intensely  hot ; 
a  cloud  had  gathered  in  the  western  horizon,  dark 
as  Erebus,  emitted  its  lightning,  roared  its  thunder, 
poured  down  its  torrent  of  water,  and  passed  from 
sight;  the  sun  "was  out  again,"  and  the  Lake,  stretch 
ing  far  away  towards  its  setting,  appeared,  indeed,  kind 
reader,  like  "a  sea  of  molten  gold," — if  you  wish  to 
see,  with  your  own  eyes,  such  a  sunset  as  your  own 
favorite  Byron,  or  adored  Scott,  has  described  to  you, 
you  should  have  been  with  our  Tom,  as  he  sat  alone 
on  Erie's  beach,  and  beheld,  with  thrilling  emotions, 
the  God  of  day  pass  quietly  to  rest,  below  the  main, 
us  gently  and  calmly  as  the  infant  upon  the  bosom  of 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  19.  401 

its  mother.  He  thought  of  Dinah ;  and  oh !  how  fer 
vently  he  prayed  in  his  heart,  that  he  might  take  unto 
himself  wings,  and  fly  away  to  his  native  Oakland ! 
He  thought  of  Emily,  and  wondered  if  she  was  in  the 
heaven  he  saw  before  him !  He  looked  upon  the  long 
range  of  woods,  extending  up  the  coast  beyond  the 
ken  of  his  vision,  and  marveled  if  the  landscape  illu 
minated  by  the  dazzling  effulgence  of  the  sun,  was 
emblematical  of  the  city  of  his  God,  "not  made  with 
hands,  eternal  in  the  heavens : "  and  now,  at  the  dead 
of  night,  stretched  upon  his  humble  bed,  cribbed  in 
an  insignificant  garret,  reposing — from  what?  not  the 
labor  of  a  stalwart  man,  with  head  erect,  and  a  spirit 
uncowed  by  past  or  present  fears  of  starvation  ;  but  the 
toil  of  threading  the  streets  and  alleys  of  a  metropolis, 
to  gain  a  pittance  to  gratify  the  necessary  wants  of 
to-day,  ignorant  of  what  the  morrow  might  bring 
forth  !  "  Small  encouragement  was  this,  and  an  une 
qual  recompense,"  thought  the  fugitive,  "  for  the  anxi 
eties  and  privations  of  a  thousand  miles  of  pilgrimage, 
to  be  called  a  freeman." 

u  If  this  am  mass'r  Bates'  Kan  on,  give  dis  nigger 
ole  Egypt,  wid  plenty  o'  corn  and  hoecake,"  said  Tom 
to  himself,  and  so  restless  did  he  become,  that  he  got 
up  and  paced  the  room. 

His  thoughts  were  busy.  He  looked  out  of  the 
window — pshaw!  this  word  fails  to  give  the  idea;  it 
was  a  hole  scarcely  big  enough  to  protrude  his  head 
through  —  and  gazed  at  the  sky.  It  was  cloudless; 
and  there  were  stars.  "Are  they  the  same,"  he 
mused,  "  that  lighted  the  heavens  the  night  I  lay  at 


402  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  ;    OR 

the  hovel  in  the  lane,  and  listened  to  the  sweet  music 
from  the  Elms  ? "  This  thought  brought  vividly  to  his 
mind  the  punishment. 

"  "War  I  sich  a  fool !  act  ugly  to  massa,  'kase  I  was 
too  old  to  hold  my  own  with  young  Hector?  Let  me 
try  um  agin,  an'  mass'r  oberseer  would  n't  be  obliged 
to  turn  dat  ole  padlock,  an'  leave  me  to  die ;  I  would 
act  like  oder  niggers — go  home  to.  my  cabin,  eat 
hearty,  an'  sleep  so  soundly ;  dat  would  I,  eeny 
how." 

Nelly  heard  footsteps  overhead.  She  was  afraid 
thieves  were  in  the  house  :  she  might  be  mistaken, 
and  lay  still  and  listened.  She  heard  them  again. 
And  now  she  could  not  be  mistaken.  Tom  was  up 
there  —  probably  asleep.  They  would  steal  his  scanty 
stock  of  clothing,  and  then  what  would  he  do?  It  would 
ruin  him  ;  he  certainly  would  give  it  up,  and  be  worse 
than  old  Hard !  She  could  not  endure  the  thought, 
and  ventured  to  go  to  the  garret  door.  She  opened  it 
softly,  stood  a  moment,  and  all  was  silence.  They 
heard  her,  she  thought,  and  were  still.  Presently,  a 
sound,  like  hard,  heavy  breathing,  caught  her  ear. 

"There,  there!  "she  audibly  exclaimed,  "they  are 
taking  his  life  !  Oh !  Tom,  Tom  !  "  and  rushed  up  the 
stairs,  and  met  him  at  the  top.  There  was  hardly  light 
enough  for  them  to  recognize  each  other. 

"  Nelly,  is  this  you  ?  I  thought  it  was  your  voice. 
"What 's  the  matter?  "  said  the  fugitive,  seizing  her  arms. 

"Why,  Tom,  are  you  awake!  and  alone  ?  I  thought 
they  were  murdering  you !  What  ails  you,  to  be  up 
at  this  time  o'  night  ? " 


403 

"1  have  a  spell  on  me.  I  'm  soliloquizing,  Nelly  ; 
dat  's  all." 

"  Pooh  !  how  you  frightened  me !  Get  to  bed,  or 
you  will  be  too  late  in  the  offices,  in  the  morning," 
she  replied,  and  descended  the  stairs,  vexed  that  she 
should  be  alarmed  so  foolishly. 

Tom  appreciated  the  advice,  and  tried  again  to 
sleep.  The  dame  was  coy,  and  he  did  little  more 
than  drowse,  until  it  was  time  to  go  to  Main  street. 
He  felt  unpleasantly,  as  he  moped  along  the  alley  to 
his  work. 

"This  comes  o'  it,  by  guine  to  de  state  of  freedom. 
Blast  mass'r  Bates !  I  would  like  to  lay  my  hands  on 
him  some  morning.  Den  he  would  see  "my  feelings " 
in  earnest.  Oh,  ho!  dar  is  a  man  yonder  on  de  side 
walk  what  looks  jist  like  him,"  said  Tom  to  himself, 
and  quickened  his  step  to  overtake  the  schoolmaster. 


404  LIFE   AT   THE  SOUTH;    OR 


CHAPTEE  XXVII. 

THE     ALARM. 

"  If  you  allow  any  passion,  even  though  it  be  esteemed  innocent,  to 
acquire  an  ascendant,  your  inward  peace  will  be  impaired." 

BLAIR'S  SERMONS. 

The  greatest  foible  in  Tom's  character  was  obstinacy. 
Not  so  much  self-willed  in  judgment  as  inflexible  in 
purpose.  He  possessed,  in  fact,  a  docile,  amiable  dis 
position.  He  would  not  inflict  a  blow  upon  the  body 
of  a  fellow-being  from  mere  wantonness  ;  neither  would 
he  pierce  the  heart  with  a  rough  remark  or  personal 
inuendo,  unless  in  self-defence.  But  he  was  not  way 
ward.  He  acted  affirmatively.  Easy  and  willing  to 
be  taught ;  yet,  if  the  instructor  closed  the  book,  or 
proposed  to  open  some  new  chapter  in  the  volume  of 
life,  it  would  be  unsafe  to  count  with  certainty  upon 
Tom.  He  might  change  the  path,  or  he  might  go  on  in 
the  old  track,  even  if  it  conducted  him  to  destruction. 

To  this  master  passion  may  be  traced  his  unwilling 
ness  to  listen  to  Dinah,  and  remain  on  the  plantation. 
To  the  same  cause  may  be  attributed  his  disinclination 


405 

to  adopt  the  advice  of  Kitty  and  Mrs.  Brown,  and 
stay  at  the  inn  in  Saint  Davids.  He  was  under  the 
tuition  of  Mr.  Bates  in  the  first  instance ;  and  in  the 
latter,  he  was  taking  lessons  from  his  friend,  Allgood. 
In  both  cases,  he  had  reached  the  conclusion,  and  the 
admonition  came  too  late.  He  was  too  obstinate  to  be 
fickle-minded ;  his  will  could  not  change  with  every 
passing  breeze.  If  he  did  not  enjoy  tranquillity,  and 
misfortune  attended  his  eiforts  after  happiness,  it  was 
not  because  he  lacked  the  desire  for  it,  or  was  desti 
tute  of  an  enterprising  spirit.  His  labor  was  mis 
directed,  and  he  would  not  heed  his  errors  when 
kindness  pointed  them  out.  He  allowed  himself  to 
become  discontented  on  the  plantation.  He  sought 
happiness  in  Canada,  but  did  not  find  it.  He  was  now 
in  Buffalo,  searching  daily  for  the  same  object. 

If  the  prize  which  the  fugitive  sought  was  covered 
up  in  money  or  property,  it  can  not  be  said  that  he 
was  making  very  encouraging  progress.  He  soon 
began  to  think  that  the  fortune  which  dazzled  his 
imagination  was  a  phantom,  for  he  not  only  did  not 
acquire  wealth,  but,  on  the  contrary,  it  was  with  ex 
treme  difficulty,  and,  as  it  seemed  to  him,  great  over- 
exertion,  that  he  earned  enough  to  supply  actual 
necessities.  In  his  walks  about  the  city,  he  saw  many 
large  buildings,  filled  with  immense  stocks  of  goods 
of  all  descriptions;  and  many  splendid  edifices,  in 
which  the  people  lived  in  elegance  and  luxury.  He 
could  not  traverse  the  long  and  broad  avenue  which 
extended  from  the  water  far  on  to  the  hills  that  over 
looked  the  town,  without  beholding  some  of  the  citizens 


406  LIFE    AT    THB    SOUTH;    OR 

riding  in  their  costly  carriages,  or  promenading  the 
walk  clad  in  the  richest  apparel ;  and  all  appear 
ing  merry  with  enjoyment.  If  he  turned  his  eyes  to 
the  beautiful,  though  sometimes  turbulent  bay,  its 
waters  were  whitened  with  many  a  departing  and  re 
turning  sail ;  he  could  not  pass  along  the  wharves  and 
docks,  without  beholding  flour,  pork,  and  corn  enough, 
he  thought,  to  supply  a  market  for  the  entire  world. 
If  perchance  he  paused  at  the  square  where,  for  the 
first  time,  lie  witnessed  the  flag  of  his  country  mourn 
ing  the  loss  of  an  estimable  citizen,  or  stepped  into 
the  side  streets  which  lead  into  the  surrounding  coun 
try,  he  could  feast  his  eyes  upon  wagon  and  cart  loads 
of  the  choicest  productions  of  the  soil ;  and  an  army 
almost  of  farmers,  whose  very  appearance  indicated 
thrift  and  good  living.  And  yet  he  strove  as  diligently 
to  obtain  these  means  of  happiness,  and  was  constantly 
disappointed.  He  was  told  that  the  whites  were  the 
lucky  owners. 

"These  gemmen  inherit  their  property,  like  massa 
Erskine,  or  else  white  men  must  have  bigger  brains, 
and  know  how  to  take  care  of  themselves  better  than 
us  slaves,"  he  frequently  muttered  to  himself,  as,  day 
after  day,  he  returned  to  the  kitchen  on  Yine  street. 

Our  story  has  run  into  the  month  of  July.  It  was 
a  stormy  morning,  and  the  weather  was  so  cold  that, 
although  in  the  midst  of  summer,  a  blazing  fire  was 
comfortable.  Tom  had  been  to  the  street,  and  waited 
upon  his  customers.  If  he  had  seen  the  schoolmaster, 
he  was  unfortunate  not  to  be  able  to  overtake  him. 
He  lost  sight  of  him  after  he  passed  the  first  block. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  407 

Tom  and  'Nelly  remained  at  the  breakfast  table 
longer  than  usual.  She  had  not  forgotten  the  affright, 
and  had  many  questions  to  ask  concerning  his  pro 
pensity  to  somnambulism. 

"  Tom,  as  long  as  you  live  here,  do  n't  you  frighten 
me  so  again." 

"  Oh !  I  was  thinkin'  of  home  ;  dat  's  all." 

"  Of  home  !     Why,  this  is  your  home." 

"  I  know'd  it ;  but  I  was  thinkin'  of  my  oder  home, 
down  South." 

"  You  have  left  there  forever !  do  n't  think  any  more 
of  it,"  said  Nelly,  who  was  pleased  with  the  disposition 
and  deportment  of  her  boarder. 

Tom  made  no  reply  ;  he  was  pensive. 

"What  you  thinking  of  now?"  inquired  Nelly,  in  a 
peculiarly  affectionate  tone  of  voice. 

"  How  de  white  folks  enjoy  all  the  happiness,"  Toin 
replied. 

"  La  sakes  !  how  you  talk !  I  guess  we  colored  citi 
zens  have  our  share.  I  do  n't  see  what  should  put 
that  into  your  head,  Tommy." 

"  'Kase  they  own  all  de  big  stores,  an'  hosses  and 
gigs,  an'  wear  all  de  nice  clothes.  Color'd  gemmen 
go  'foot." 

"  Oh,  you  great  dunce !  Do  n't  you  suppose  we 
have  good  times?  And  what  does 'it  signify?  We 
work  week  days,  and  rest  on  the  Sabbath.  Then, 
do  n't  we  go  to  church  ?"  said  Nelly. 

"  Can't  say  as  to  dat ;  I  hab  not  been  much,  you 
know." 

"  Well,  you  walk  without  your  crutch  now,  and  if 


408  LIFE   AT    THE   SOUTH;    OB 

yon  can  get  rid  of  your  pride,  yon  may  go  with  me 
to-morrow,  Sunday  school  an'  all.  I  have  a  class,  you 
know." 

"I'll  do  dat.  I'm  'most  asham'd  for  neglectin' 
meeting  so  long.  But  my  mind  has  been  filled  with 
property;  an'  den  agin,  I  couldn't  go  on  my  ole 
crutch  —  I  should  be  laughed  at;  you  know'd  dat, 
Nelly?" 

"  Yes,  yes  ;  you  are  mighty  proud,  I  know'd — par 
ticularly  so,  for  an  ole  man  —  yah !  yah !  yah  !  " 

Tom  did  not  mention  to  Nelly  that  he  had  a  glimpse 
of  the  schoolmaster,  who  was  uppermost  in  his  mind, 
and  he  thought  he  would  stray  up  into  the  town,  and 
go  to  the  hotels.  The  storm  subsided,  and  he  wan 
dered  about  from  place  to  place  most  of  the  day; 
he  did  not  return  home  until  after  dusk.  Unable  to 
find  Mr.  Bates,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  that  he  had 
taken  some  one  else  for  his  old  friend,  and  thought  no 
no  more  of  it.  He  brushed  up  what  boots  he  had 
lugged  home,  and  as  he  did  not  get  much  sleep  the 
previous  night,  went  to  bed  earlier  than  usual.  Kelly 
would  have  been  glad  to  have  had  him  remain  up  a 
little  longer ;  but  she  felt  fatigued  herself,  and  made 
no  remark.  The  fugitive  and  washerwoman  slept 
late.  Nelly,  because  she  had  no  shirts  to  iron  ;  Tom, 
because  he  had  not  a  boot  —  strange  to  say — to  deliver. 
"What  he  brought  home  with  him,  after  his  stroll  for 
the  schoolmaster,  were  cast-off  leather,  so  it  turned 
out,  not  intended  for  Sunday  wear.  Upon  taking  a 
count,  there  were  only  six,  and  those  mostly  worn  out. 
The  lawyer,  doctor,  and  tradesman  kept  these  for  extra 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  409 

occasions  —  such  as,  for  instance,  reader,  an  excursion 
to  the  woods  of  Cattauraugus,  to  spear  trout;  or  a 
walk  to  the  Indian  Reservation,  to  collect  herbs,  so 
that  the  heart  may  not  stop  its  pulsations  before  age 
has  attained  to  three-score  and  ten;  or  a  sail  to  Grand 
Island.  The  first  for  health,  the  second  for  science, 
the  third — not  for  amusement  merely,  if  it  occurred 
on  the  first  day  on  the  week,  but  to  worship  God  in 
his  living  presence !  Tom  felt  it  to  be  the  Lord's 
day.  He  put  on  a  tidy  shirt,  a  clean  pair  of  panta 
loons —  color,  white  —  and  over  this,  in  front,  extending 
down  to  his  knees,  as  nice  an  apron  as  Nelly  could 
make  for  him.  He  was  particular  in  combing  his 
head — it  hardly  looked  natural,  he  had  fixed  it  up  so 
much.  He  was  ready  for  church  before  the  hour,  and 
wondered  why  the  bells  did  not  ring.  Nelly  dressed 
her  front  hair  in  curls,  (it  was  not  straight,  and  hence, 
by  some,  she  was  pronounced  to  be  mulatto,)  she  put 
on  her  best  calico  dress,  and  looked  neat.  This  was 
not  all.  She  wore  —  not  a  handkerchief,  bright  with 
red  or  yellow  tints — but  a  plain  white  muslin  cap, 
such  as  might  be  seen  on  many  a  white  lady,  on 
ordinary  days. 

"Tom,"  said  Nelly,  "why  don't  you  put  on  that 
white  linen  roundabout  which  the  merchant  give  you? 
It 's  starched  stiff.  You  should  not  wear  that  apron ; 
it 's  unbecoming." 

"Too  hot;  and  dis  nigger  am  not  proud,"  replied 
Tom. 

As  the  bells  of  the  several  churches  pealed  forth 
their  solemn  chime,  Tom  and  Nelly  walked  over  to 


410 

the -colored  Sunday  school.  The  children  were  not 
very  prompt  in  attendance.  The  teachers,  with  the 
exception  of  Nelly,  were  as  tardy  in  their  attendance 
as  the  pupils.  The  hour  designated  was  nine  o'clock, 
but  it  was  nearer  ten  before  they  readied  the  room. 
She  did  not  wait  for  the  others,  but  as  soon  as  a  por 
tion  of  her  class  arrived,  commenced  the  exercise  of 
hearing  the  little  boys  and  girls  recite  the  few  passages 
of  scripture  which,  at  the  previous  school,  they  were 
directed  to  commit  to  memory.  She  removed  the  straw 
bonnet  from  her  head,  for  she  thought  it  unbecoming. 
Tom  was  interested,  and  pleased  with  the  appearance 
of  the  children.  He  patted  their  heads,  and  praised 
them  for  being  so  good.  After  Nelly  heard  her  class 
through,  they  went  above  and  took  their  seats,  to  hear 
the  minister.  He  preached  upon  the  subject  of  repen 
tance,  to  a  large  and  attentive  congregation.  Torn 
heard  every  word,  and  appeared  more  devout  than 
Nelly  had  seen  him  at  any  time  before.  This  espe 
cially  pleased  her,  for  she  had  the  reputation  of  being, 
and  no  doubt  was,  a  sincere  Christian.  After  church 
was  over,  they  returned  home  in  company.  Tom  re 
proached  himself  for  not  being  more  regular  in  going 
to  meeting,  and  resolved  that  he  would  resume  his 
morning  and  evening  prayers. 

"  You  saw  many  good-looking  people  at  church  to 
day,  did  n't  you,  Tom  g  "  asked  Nelly,  as  they  were 
sipping  their  tea. 

"  O  yas." 

"  Property  is  not  all  confined  to  the  white  folks :  we 
are  some,  ourselves."  she  added. 


SVNDAY    SCHOOL. 


413 

"  ~No  big  fortins  among  um  ;  they  must  work  jist  as 
color'd  people  do  whar  I  come  from,"  replied  Tom. 

"  You  forget  that  they  are  their  own  masters ;  do  n't 
have  to  budge  as  the  whim  of  the  tyrant  dictates. 
Mighty  difference !  " 

"  I  know'd  dat ;  an'  if  they  do  n't  git  work,  must 
starve  or  beg !  Dunno,  dunno,"  said  Tom,  shaking  his 
head. 

"  You  will  like  our  society  better,  when  you  get 
naturalized  to  it.  Things  will  come  round  right,  by- 
and-by,"  said  Nelly. 

The  fugitive  prayed  that  night,  for  the  first  time 
since  he  came  to  the  land  of  freedom,  and  the  washer 
woman  joined  him  in  his  devotion.  It  reminded  him 
of  the  cabin,  and  he  felt  more  at  home.  He  kissed  the 
children,  as  he  retired  to  the  garret,  and  wished  Kelly 
pleasant  dreams. 

It  was  his  habit  to  rise  early,  for  it  was  difficult  to 
sleep  after  daylight.  But  the  next  morning  found  him 
stirring  earlier  than  usual.  The  sun  was  not  up  when 
he  reached  the  creek.  He  was  looking  for  some 
chance-work.  Occasionally  he  slipped  a  sixpence  or 
shilling  into  his  pocket,  for  carrying  a  valise  or  carpet 
bag  from  the  steamboat  to  the  railroad  depot,  or  some 
private  residence.  He  had  but  one  office  to  sweep, 
and,  as  he  passed  "  the  churches,"  he  descried  a  steam 
boat  coming  rapidly  into  port.  He  had  hurried  down 
to  the  wharf,  thinking  he  should  have  an  abundance 
of  time  to  attend  to  the  office  afterward.  There  were 
several  persons  engaged  in  soliciting  the  patronage  of 

passengers :  others  with  strong,  heavy  canes  in  their 

18 


414-  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

hands,  indicating  that  they  were  there  to  keep  the 
peace  ;  and  these,  with  almost  any  number  of  hackney 
coachmen,  drivers  of  baggage-wagons,  and  carmen, 
created  a  very  respectable  crowd,  in  point  of  size.  All 
made  a  rush  for  the  gangway  of  the  boat,  the  instant 
the  officer  in  command  pulled  the  bell  to  stop  the 
wheels,  and  Tom  among  the  rest. 

It  turned  out  to  be  the  boat  from  Perrysburgh  and 
Toledo,  Captain  -  — ,  an  old  veteran  in  the  service, 
and  popular  with  the  traveling  public.  There  was 
much  hurrying  to  and  fro,  as  well  on  the  part  of  the 
passengers  as  gentlemen  from  on  shore,  who  kindly 
offered  to  take  them  in  charge,  and  to  such  a  degree 
that,  to  some  of  the  passengers,  the  offer  became  ex 
ceedingly  offensive.  Tom  had  not  yet  succeeded  in 
obtaining  any  baggage,  and  was  jostling  his  way  to 
the  upper  deck.  As  he  reached  the  foot  of  the  stairs 
to  go  up  into  the  ladies'  saloon,  whom  should  he  be 
hold  but  his  young  master  Frederick!  lie  quickly 
stopped,  to  turn  around  ;  but  the  pressure  was  too 
strong,  and  he  was  wedged  in  so  tight,  that  he  found 
it  difficult  even  to  turn  his  face.  He  cast  his  eye 
above,  to  see  whether  his  person  was  recognized, 
and  was  glad  to  observe  his  young  master  still  talking 
to  some  person  inside  the  saloon.  He  redoubled  his 
efforts  to  relieve  himself  from  the  unpleasant  position, 
and  succeeded,  after  receiving  a  bruise  or  two  from  the 
baggage  which  was  in  process  of  transhipment,  and 
more  curses  from  the  various  porters  who  were  crowd 
ing  the  gangway.  Once  ashore,  he  did  not  look  back 
to  make  any  further  discoveries  but  scampered  though 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  415 

a  narrow  alley  into  a  street,  less  frequented  by  the 
public  conveyances,  and  retreated  to  the  office.  He 
commenced  his  work  there,  and  notwithstanding  he 
would  not, 'for  the  price  of  himself,  be  seen  by  Fred 
erick,  yet  so  great  was  his  anxiety  to  catch  another 
glance  of  his  young  master,  he  could  not  refrain  from 
keeping  up  an  almost  constant  lookout,  as  omnibus 
and  carriage,  one  after  the  other,  passed  up  the  street. 
He  either  did  not  look  out  at  the  right  time,  or  he  had 
mistaken  some  other  person  for  Frederick.  He  could 
not  be  mistaken :  he  knew  that  the  gentleman  whom 
he  had  seen  was  his  young  master ;  he  had  not  altered 
in  the  least  particular. 

Tom  was  not  so  particular  to  make  the  suit  of  rooms 
look  nice  ;  he  felt  anxious  to  learn  more  of  Frederick. 
Perhaps  he  was  in  quest  of  his  runaway  slave.  Per 
haps  the  old  master  was  dead,  and  his  young  master 
succeeding  to  the  estate,  had  commenced  searching 
anew  for  his  lost  property.  The  more  he  reflected 
upon  the  incident  at  the  boat,  the  more  uneasy  he 
became. 

Having  swept  out  the  rooms,  Tom  did  not  stop  to 
dust  the  furniture,  books,  and  law  papers,  but  "  cut 
the  work  short,"  and  turning  out  of  Main,  took  Pearl 
street  in  his  course,  to  avoid  passing  the  principal 
hotels. 

"  Nelly,"  said  he,  as  soon  as  he  entered  the  house, 
"I  hab  bin  scar'd  worse  than  you  war,  oder  night." 

"What  now,  Tom?" 

"  I  seed  my  young  master  Frederick,  down  at  the 
boat." 


416  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  Why,  Tom,  is  that  so  ?  Then  you  must  go  right 
over  the  river,  to  Canada ;  he  is  after  his  slave,  you 
may  depend  on  't,"  said  Kelly,  alarmed  at  her  fears. 

"  Dunno ;  he  did  not  set  his  eyes  on  me." 

"  No  matter ;  he  will  scour  the  town  to  find  you. 
Some  ragamuffin  has  sent  word  to  him  that  you  are 
here  ;  I  '11  put  the  breakfast  on  the  table  now,"  ob 
served  Nelly. 

"  I  do  n't  know  'bout  guine  to  de  state  of  freedom 
agin.  I  hates  missus  Brown  ;  she  scolds  and  frets  all 
the  time,"  remarked  the  fugitive,  unwilling  to  take 
the  trip. 

"  Oh  !  you  need  n't  go  to  Saint  Davids.  La  sakes  ! 
plenty  o'  places  to  stop  at.  There,  hurry  Tom !  you 
have  no  time  to  spare;  I'll  pack  up  your  things," 
added  Nelly. 

"  Spare  yourself  the  trouble,  Nelly ;  I  must  think 
of  it." 

"  Why,  would  you  think  it,  Mr.  Easy !  Tom's  mas 
ter  is  in  search  of  him,  and  is  actually  in  this  city,  and 
he  hesitates  to  go  across  the  river ! "  said  Nelly  to  her 
neighbor,  who  then  happened  in.  The  intelligence 
alarmed  him  almost  as  much  as  it  did  her. 

"Foolish  fellow!  by  all  means  go — lose  not  a 
moment,"  said  Mr.  Easy. 

"  I  had  rather  'connoiter  a  little.  Who  knows  but 
dat  ole  Pompey,  or  some  o'  de  odors,  may  be  with  him. 
No,  no  ;  he  won't  know  whar  I  am.  I  '11  keep  watch, 
an'  if  I  seed  urn  coining,  dis  nigger  will  hide  under 
the  bed,  up  in  the  garret,"  replied  the  fugitive,  still 
unwilling  to  go  to  Canada. 


417 

"  What  a  dunce  !  "Why,  man,  I  would  n't  give  a 

pin  for  your  chance  to  escape,  if  constable •  takes 

the  field.  Talk  of  hiding  under  the  bed !  why,  that 
officer  is  the  greatest  setter  in  the  whole  country  — 
he's  notorious,"  replied  Mr.  Easy,  vexed  at  Tom's 
stubbornness. 

"Yes,  yes;  and  that's  the  first — the  very  first 
place — he  would  go  to  look  for  you.  Come,  if  you 
know  what 's  best  for  you,  you  will  take  our  advice," 
said  Nelly. 

"  Oh  !  it  is  lonesome  over  thar,"  replied  the  fugitive. 

"  Pshaw !  we  will  come  over  and  see  you ;  won't 
we,  Mr.  Easy?" 

"I  think  likely,"  he  replied,  with  some  hesitation. 

"  I  will,  at  any  rate,"  added  JSTelly. 

"  If  I  was  sure  that  I  can  not  hear  from  Dinah,  if  I 
stay'd,"  said  the  fugitive,  in  an  undertone,  to  himself. 

"What  is  it  you  remark?"  inquired  the  washer 
woman. 

"If  I  was  certain  that  he  went  to  the  hotel,  I  think 
it  would  be  best  to  go.  I  must  think,"  he  replied. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Easy,  s'pose  you  loiter  about,  and  see 
what  you  can  learn.  If  Tom  is  determined  to  stay  in 
the  city,  we  must  keep  him  snug,"  observed  JSTelly. 

"  Very  good  ;  Tom  can  describe  his  master  to  me,  as 
well  as  he  can,  and  I '11  take  a  look,"  replied  Mr.  Easy. 

He  received  a  pretty  full  description  of  the  person  of 
young  Mr.  Erskine.  and  walked  up  to  Main  street,  be 
lieving. he  should  be  able  to  recognize  the  gentleman,  if 
he  should  be  fortunate  enough  to  see  him.  In  the  mean 
time,  the  fugitive  remained  with  the  washer-woman. 


LIFE    AT  THE    SOUTH'.    OR 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

AMERICAN   HOTEL. 

Mary,  the  planter's  daughter,  had  frequently  asked 
her  father  to  take  a  trip  to  the  Falls  of  Niagara.  She 
importuned  him  so  much,  that  finally  he  consented  to 
come  North.  Frederick,  his  son,  desired  to  accom 
pany  them ;  and  the  father,  son,  and  daughter,  taking 
with  them  Pompey  and  Dinah,  composed  the  party. 

Instead  of  going  by  the  seaboard,  they  took  the 
National  Road  to  the  Ohio  river,  and  thence  to  Cin 
cinnati.  Mr.  Erskine  had  not  traveled  much  —  never 
having  gone  beyond  the  limits  of  his  native  common 
wealth,  excepting  upon  a  few  occasions,  and  then  only 
for  a  short  distance.  He  was  pleased  to  make  as  wide 
a  circuit  as  he  conveniently  could,  for  the  mutual  grat 
ification  of  himself  and  children.  From  Cincinnati, 
he  pursued  the  most  direct  route  to  the  Lakes,  embark 
ing  at  Sandusky  upon  the  steamboat  bound  for  the 
city  of  Buffalo. 

Tom  was  right  in  his  conjecture  as  to  Frederick,  for 
the  party  arrived  that  morning  at  the  latter-named 
city,  and  engaged  apartments  at  the  American  Hotel. 


419 

Mary  desired  to  take  some  female  domestic ;  and 
Dinah  teased  so  hard,  that  she  concluded  to  take  her 
in  place  of  Philisee.  It  seemed  that  Mr.  Gravity, 
subsequent  to  his  return  from  Swamp  Creek,  learned 
that  he  was  mistaken  in  his  supposition  that  Uncle 
Tom  was  buried  in  the  field,  the  grave  which  he  saw 
finally  turning  out  to  be  that  of  another  negro,  who 
departed  this  life  after  a  lingering  and  painful  illness. 
The  boy  had  been  told  of  the  accident  on  the  turn 
pike,  and,  as  is  frequently  the  case,  surmised  the  rest 
of  his  information.  It  was,  therefore,  generally  be 
lieved  on  the  plantation  that  Uncle  Tom  had  escaped 
alive. 

Dinah  loved  her  husband  dearly ;  and  when  she 
heard  that  her  young  missis  thought  of  visiting  the 
North,  she  begged  the  privilege  of  attending  her. 
Philisee  did  not  object,  although  she  knew  she  was  the 
favorite,  and  could  go  if  she  pleased.  But  she  pitied 
Dinah,  who,  if  she  went,  perhaps  might  have  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  her  husband. 

Aboard  of  the  boat  on  the  lake,  Dinah  kept  strain 
ing  her  eyes,  whenever  she  was  outside  of  the  saloon, 
to  see  Canada.  The  chambermaid  assured  her  the 
pleasure  of  beholding  that  country  in  the  morning,  and 
it  was  not  daybreak  when  the  devoted  wife  was  again 
upon  the  deck.  She  had  no  desire  to  sleep,  and  all 
her  thoughts  were  centered  upon  her  own  dear  Tom. 

The  moon  had  gone  down,  and  it  was  too  dark  to 
see  objects  afar  with  distinctness.  She  wished  the 
boat  would  move  faster  over  the  water.  Presently, 
she  thought  she  caught  a  faint  glimpse  of  the  land  far 


420  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OE 

away  in  the  distance.  She  almost  held  her  breath  in 
ecstacy.  She  set  her  eyes  upon  the  object ;  but  in  a  few 
minutes  it  was  too  dim  to  be  seen.  The  darkness  in 
creased,  and  she  went  below  again  with  a  saddened 
heart.  The  boat  kept  on  its  course ;  and  when  the  day 
began  to  dawn,  the  lighthouse  upon  Buffalo  pier  was 
in  plain  sight.  Dinah,  as  she  sat  in  the  lower  saloon, 
overheard  one  of  the  passengers  remark,  "  there  is  old 
fort  Erie,"  and  without  knowing  what  place  was  meant 
rushed  out  the  door. 

"There  is  Canada;  you  can  have  a  good  view  of  it. 
We  are  now  going  into  the  creek,"  said  the  chamber 
maid. 

Dinah  was  satisfied ;  she  had  seen  the  land  of  free 
dom  ;  and  went  to  the  stateroom  above,  to  wait  upon 
Mary. 

Pompey 's  curiosity  to  see  the  land  about  which  he 
had  heard  so  much,  was  also  excited ;  and  he  did  not 
fail  to  give  it  his  respectful  attention.  lie  did  not  care 
to  talk  about  it,  however,  in  the  presence  of  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine, —  neither  did  Dinah  ;  both  kept  their  thoughts  to 
themselves.  After  breakfast,  Frederick  missed  his 
cane,  and  directed  Pompey  to  return  to  the  boat  and 
get  it.  Dinah  asked  Mary's  consent  to  go  with  him 
to  the  boat,  which  was  readily  given, 

"  Pompey,  I  want  to  tell  you  so  bad,  how  I  see 
whar  Tommy  is,"  said  Dinah,  as  they  were  going 
down  the  stairs  of  the  hotel. 

"  Speak  urn,"  said  he,  in  an  undertone. 

"  Jist  afore  we  got  off,  I  looked  way  'cross  the  sea; 
I  '11  show  you  when  we  git  down  dar,  I  will." 


421 

u  Dinah,  did  you  saw  how  green  it  is  ober  dar?  " 

"  Dunno,  Pompey  ;  I  s'pects  not.  Wha' — wha'  you 
mean  ? "  she  asked  earnestly, 

"  Why,  Dinah,  you  did  n't  see  how  green  it  look'd  ! 
Why,  you  war  n't  half  so  'serving  as  dis  nigger ;  an' 
he  hab  no  husband  ober  dar — ha  !  haw  !  haw!  " 

u  Pompey,  you  're  cruel  to  make  light,"  she  plain 
tively  answered. 

"  Why,  Dinah,  dis  nigger  would  n't  injure  your 
feelin's  — only  a  little  sport;  dat  's  all.  I  feel  like  fun. 
Let  urn  go,  though.  Wha' !  what  a  spankin'  big  nig 
ger  goes  on  t'other  side  o'  road !  I  would  like  to  know 
who  he  belongs  to.  Jehu,  jehimmirii !  only  jist  look 
at  dat  ole  fellar !  why,  he  can  hardly  walk !  by  golly, 
he  gibs  um  up  !  Dar,  he  's  guine  to  nap  it  on  de  road, 
as  sure  as  we  live  —  poor  fellar!  "  exclaimed  Pompey, 
as  he  beheld  Jim  Hard  lying  down  on  the  sidewalk, 
below  the  canal  bridge  on  Commercial  street,  after  a 
night's  debauch. 

"  Poor  fellar!"  echoed  Dinah. 

"He's  enjoying  freedom  here;  it's  not  necessary 
for  him  to  go  to  Canada,"  said  Pompey. 

"  Free,  I  s'pects,"  said  Dinah. 

"Dat  ole  nigger  bought  his  freedom!  He  couldn't 
hoe  a  peck  of  corn  in  a  week,"  said  Pompey,  turning 
up  his  nose. 

They  went  aboard  of  the  boat,  and  found  Frederick's 
cane  in  the  stateroom. 

"  Pompey,  come  you  now  wid  me,  an'  I  '11  show  you 
where  I  stood  when  I  first  cast  these  eyes  across  de  sea," 

said  Dinah,  as  he  was  turning  to  go  down  the  gangway. 
18* 


422  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"  Berry  good,"  replied  Pompey  ;  and  she  conducted 
him  to  the  stern  of  the  boat,  on  the  lower  deck. 

"Right  here,  Pompey ;  an'  how  I  felt!  I  wonder 
if  Tommy  is  ober  dar?"  she  said:  and  began  to  cry. 

"Pshaw!  Dnnno;  don't  act  foolish,  Dinah,  or  I 
shall  cry  myself.  Think  no  more  on  't.  Perhaps  you 
will  seed  him  afore  massa  goes  home.  Come  —  come 
along,  Dinah ;  don  't  stand  dare  idle.  Young  massa 
wants  his  cane.  Come  along ;  you  hinder  me,1'  said 
Pompey,  rather  harshly,  from  impatience. 

Dinah  complied  reluctantly  with  his  request. 

"  Only  jist  look  at  dat  ole  fellar.  Why,  see  the 
flies !  Pooh !  I  can't  bear  de  sight,"  exclaimed  Pom 
pey,  as  they  again  passed  by  Hard,  still  lying  on  the 
sidewalk,  near  an  empty  sugar  hogshead. 

They  walked  leisurely  up  the  sidewalk  to  the  hotel. 
Pompey  admired  the  buildings,  stores,  shops,  and  car 
riages,  and  was  constantly  uttering  his  praise.  Dinah 
admired  them  too,  as  they  pleased  her  fancy  when 
immediately  before  her  eyes.  But  she  had  no  remarks 
to  make.  Her  heart  was  elsewhere. 

He  delivered  the  cane  to  his  young  master 

"  We  shall  stop  and  look  at  this  town  for  a  day  or 
two.  Take  that,  and  supply  yourself  with  nick-nacks, 
Pompey,"  said  Frederick,  handing  the  slave  a  bright 
American  half  dollar. 

"  Thank  'e,  massa,"  said  Pompey,  making  a  very 
low  bow. 

He  ran  to  find  Dinah,  for  he  wanted  her  to  help  him 
spend  the  money.  Mary  overheard  what  he  said. 

"Dinah,  there's  the  mate  to  it,"  said  she,  tossing  a 


423 

similar  piece  of  money  into  her  lap,  as  she  sat  by  the 
window,  looking  down  upon  the  street. 

"Thankee,  missis  Mary,"  replied  Dinah,  at  the  same 
time  rising  and  making  a  curtsy. 

Pompey  and  Dinah,  in  the  course  of  the  forenoon, 
took  another  stroll. 

"I  wonder  whar'  Tom  is,  an'  what  he  is  doin?" 
said  Dinah. 

"  I  wonder  whar'  mass'r  Bates  am? "  said  Pompey. 

"  Pompey,  you  take  'way  half  my  'joyment,  talkin'so." 

"  Not  at  all,  Dinah.  I  neber  thinks  of  one  widout 
de  oder;  dat  's  all." 

They  stopped  at  a  confectioner's,  and  Pompey  bought 
some  candies  for  Dinah  and  himself.  A  negro  woman 
came  into  the  store  whilst  they  were  there.  Pompey 
felt  so  comfortable,  and  joked  so  freely  with  Dinah, 
that  the  woman  did  not  feel  any  restraint  in  speaking 
to  them,  especially  as  she  had  an  object  in  view. 

"We  see  a  good  many  of  you  southern  people  here 
in  the  hot  weather.  You  are  traveling  with  your  mis 
tress,  I  suppose,"  she  said  to  Dinah. 

"  Yis ;  missis  Mary  war  good  'nough  to  take  me  wid 
her  on  de  journey,"  replied  Dinah. 

"  Going  to  the  Falls,  I  expects." 

"  Yis  ;  we  stop  dar  afore  we  go  home  to  Yirginny, 
I  s'pose,"  replied  Dinah. 

"  Great  curiosity,"  remarked  the  woman ;  and  left 
the  store.  Pompey  and  Dinah  soon  supplied  them 
selves  with  what  they  wanted,  and  sauntered  along  the 
sidewalk,  eating  their  candies,  until  they  reached 
again  the  hotel. 


424:  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

The  planter  and  his  children  had  gone  out  to  ride, 
and  view  the  town.  They  admired  its  location,  and  the 
beautiful  and  cleanly  streets.  The  numerous  "build 
ings  that  were  being  erected,  and  the  many  vessels  for 
the  lake,  and  boats  for  the  canals,  that  were  being 

'  O 

built,  indicated  enterprise  and  prosperity.  Mr.  Ersk- 
ine  thought  the  hotel  surpassed  any  he  had  ever  seen, 
BO  elegant  was  the  structure  itself,  and  so  admirable 
were  all  the  interior  appointments  and  arrangements. 
They  passed  the  day  agreeably,  and  in  the  evening 

visited  the  theatre.     Mr.  • ,  the   great  tragedian, 

appeared  upon  the  boards,  and  enacted  the  humpback 
tyrant  of  England,  amid  the  loud  applause  of  the 
audience,  and  to  their  own  great  gratification.  They 
returned  to  their  lodgings,  delighted  with  the  entertain 
ment,  and  concluded  to  prolong  their  stay  at  Buffalo 
at  least  another  day. 


425 


CHAPTEE  XXIX. 

THE   FKEE   NEGRO. 

In  the  meantime,  whilst  the  planter  and  his  family, 
the  servants  included,  were  enjoying  themselves  as 
thousands  of  other  travelers  will  continue  to  do,  we 
have  no  doubt,  who  may  chance  to  stop  for  a  day  or 
two  in  that  delightful  metropolis,  Mr.  Easy  was  mak 
ing  heavy  draughts  upon  his  wit,  to  learn  whether 
Tom's  master  was  actually  in  the  city.  He  went  to 
the  several  public  houses,  and  scanned  critically  the 
various  strangers  whom  he  happened  to  see.  He  lin 
gered  about  the  American  hotel  until  near  noon.  He 
saw  many  gentlemen  and  ladies  whom  he  took  to  be 
Southerners  ;  but  none  corresponded  with  the  descrip 
tion  given  him,  and  he  concluded  that  Frederick  had 
proceeded  directly  from  the  boat  to  the  cars  —  and  so 
he  reported  to  the  fugitive. 

"  Tom,  3^011  must  fly  to  Canada  suddenly ! "  said 
Nelly,  almost  out  of  breath,  as  she  came  running  into 
the  house  on  Vine  street. 

"  I  hab  de  start  of  you  ;  Mr.  Easy  jist  told  me  he 
was  gone,"  replied  Tom,  perfectly  calm. 


LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  Mr.  Easy  is  not  sharp ;  I  tell  you,  he  is  here !  your 
very  master !  You  have  not  a  minute  to  spare !  I 

have  seen  that "  Kelly  here  hesitated,  and  knit 

her  brow,  as  if  she  had  something  to  say,  but  either 
could  not,  or  was  unwilling  to  utter  it. 

Tom  stared.     Nelly  looked  downcast. 

"Well,  proceed — spoke  um,"  said  he,  in  a  gentle 
tone. 

Nelly  seemed  to  be  in  thought ;  Tom  began  to  grow 
uneasy. 

"  You  aint  takin'  sick,  or  noffin?  "  he  remarked. 

Nelly  sat  down  in  the  rocking  chair,  and  took  off 
her  bonnet. 

"Why,  Nelly,  why!  Don't  fool  dis  nigger  so! 
You  war  'bout  to  say  something  —  out  wid  um  ;  you 
seed  me  patient,"  said  Tom. 

"Tom,  I  think  I  will  accompany  you ;  I  likes  to  go 
to  Saint  Davids,"  she  said. 

"  Not  wid  dis  nigger,  eeny  how  !  No,  no  ;  gib  me 
de  States.  Here  am  de  only  place  to  live  like  freeman." 

"  I  agree  to  that ;  but  such  colored  gemmen  as  your 
self  are  denied  the  privilege,"  replied  Nelly. 

"  I  am  not  guine  dar.  I  tell  you,  Mr.  Easy  jist 
said  that  massa  war  out  o'  town." 

"It  is  not  so  ;  I  have  seen  with  my  own  eyes, 
that " 

"  Who — who  ?  why  do  n't  you  spoke  um  ?  "  inquired 
Tom,  in  a  louder  tone  of  voice. 

"  Why,  if  you  must  know,"  replied  Nelly,  with  a 
sneer  upon  her  countenance,  "I  have  seen  that  wench, 
Dinah!" 


427 

"  Dinah !  my  own  lubly  Dinah  ? "  exclaimed  the 
fugitive,  and  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

"  Yes,  I  have  Seen  her ;  and  I  see  some  one  else, 
too,  Tom." 

"  What  dat  yon  say,  Nelly  ? "  said  he,  looking  up  in 
surprise. 

"  I  see  a  colored  gemman." 

tc  Who  ?  what  his  name?  "  asked  Tom. 

cc  She  called  him  Pompey ;  he  did  n't  look  bad." 

"It  isn't  possible!"  exclaimed  Tom,  more  in  sor 
row  tli an  anger. 

"  I  say  it  is  a  fact  ;  he  was  buying  candy  for  her." 

Tom  burst  into  tears,  and  cried  like  a  child.  Nelly 
pitied  him,  and  yet  was  glad  to  see  the  information 
affect  him. 

"  Now,  I  'm  guine  to  die ! "  said  Tom,  sobbing 
continually. 

"  I  can't  help  it,  Tom ;  but  you  shall  not  kill  your 
self.  The  true  way  is  to  think  no  more  of  it.  Fly  to 
Canada,  and  be  safe  from  bondage.  I  will  come  to 
you,  as  soon  as  I  can  settle  up,  and  we  will  have  a 
happy  home,"  said  Nelly,  thinking  she  had  aroused 
his  jealousy  sufficiently  to  bend  him  to  her  will,  and 
weaken,  if  not  altogether  destroy,  his  affection  for 
Dinah. 

"  I  must  see  um,  first,"  he  replied. 

"  See  them  !  why,  how  can  you  be  so  foolhardy  ?  I 
tell  you,  your  master  is  on  the  watch  ;  and  it  is  out  of 
the  question  for  you  to  do  that,  without  being  discov 
ered  and  caught,"  said  she,  rising  to  attend  to  a  knock 
at  the  outer  door. 


428  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

It  was  Jim  Hard,  who,  having  slept  his  nap  out  on 
the  sidewalk,  and  hearing  Mr.  Easy  say  that  the  boot 
black  was  in  danger,  came  to  give  his  aid  and  advice. 

"  Well,  Tom,  in  bilboes,  eh? "  remarked  Hard, " haw, 
haw,  haw !  you  should  lead  free  and  easy  life,  like  me, 
then  they  would  n't  take  the  trouble  to  hunt  you  up. 
Tom,  you  are  too  infernal  smart  for  the  times ;  can't 
be  helped,  though.  Come,  cheer  up  ;  you  must  show 
yourself  a  trump  now.  Haw,  haw,  haw  !  " 

"  I  likes  no  sich  talk,  Mr.  Hard ;  my  heart  feels 
bad,"  said  Tom. 

"  Fiddle  de  dee !  throw  your  heart  away.  You  must 
not  sit  here  and  brood :  if  my  master  was  here,  I 
should  put  for  the  other  side  of  the  river,  posthaste." 

"Exactly,  Mr.  Hard;  that's  my  counsel,  and  he 
will  not  take  it.  I  am  glad  to  see  you  so  sensible," 
said  Nelly. 

"Of  course,  I  am — never  otherwise.  Come  with 
me  ;  I  '11  pilot  you  safe,  master  or  no  master." 

"  I  would  like  to  take  jist  one  look  of  Dinah  ;  den  i 
am  ready  to  go  to  Saint  Davids,"  remarked  Tom. 

"Mr.  Hard,  that  is  impossible,  and  get  away  safe," 
said  Nelly,  before  he  had  time  to  reply. 

"I  don't  know — I  don't  know,  missis  Nelly;  I 
guess  we  can  fetch  that.  Let  us  see,"  said  Hard, 
scratching  his  head.  "  Where  is  she?"  he  finally 
asked. 

"At  hotel — American,"  replied  Tom. 

"Very  good  ;  we  will  try  that." 

Tom  gut  up  from  the  chair,  and  said  that  he  was 
ready  to  make  the  effort. 


429 

"  Not  too  fast,  Tom ;  I  don't  like  daylight  for  sicli 
a  jaunt;  we  must  take  the  dark  for  that.  We  will 
make  our  descent  this  evening,"  said  Hard. 

uYes;  and  before  that  time,  Tom  will  be  in  the 

hands  of  constable !     I  almost  hear  him  coming, 

now,"  said  Nelly. 

"  Oh  !  do  n't  be  alarmed  about  that  officer.  I  have 
often  given  him  a  lead  around  the  corner,"  said  Hard, 
who  always  felt  perfectly  at  home  when  playing 
"  hide  and  seek "  with  the  police.  '{  Come,  missis 
Nelly,  give  us  some  feed,  and  I  will  take  this  gem- 
man  into  my  custody ;  and  mark  you,  I  '11  bring  him 
out  safe  and  sound.  He  will  find  me  a  blood,  and  no 
mistake." 

"  I  never  did  see  sich  a  contrary  fellar,"  said  Nelly, 
vexed  at  the  fugitive's  obstinacy,  and  fearful  that  old 
Hard  would  get  them  into  trouble. 

But  it  was  of  no  use  ;  Tom  was  inflexibly  determined 
to  take  a  peep  at  Dinah,  and  old  Hard  was  too  fond 
of  adventure  to  allow  this  opportunity  to  pass  by  unim 
proved.  She  got  them  something  to  eat;  and  shortly 
after  the  sun  went  down,  the  fugitive  and  his  pilot 
started  out  for  a  cruise. 

u  "Whar — whar  you  guine,  frien'  Hard?"  asked 
Tom,  as  they  entered  a  narrow  alley  in  the  rear  of  the 
hotel. 

"  Close,  now — not  a  wrord,"  whispered  the  pilot. 
"  If  we  should  be  seen,  we  would  have  constable  - 
arter  us,  in  good  earnest." 

"  I  know'd  dat  voice !  it  am "  exclaimed  Tom,  in 

as  low  a  tone  as  his  excited  feelings  would  permit  him. 


430  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"  Hist  —  hist!  careful,  careful  —  now;  there,  hold 
your  walk,"  said  Hard,  as  they  came  within  hearing 
of  Dinah's  voice,  talking  to  Pompey  in  the  window 
above. 

There  was  no  moon,  and  a  thunder-cloud,  hovering 
low  over  the  city,  shut  out  the  light  of  the  stars.  They 
took  their  position  under  the  window,  standing  close 
to  the  wall  of  the  building,  and  listened. 

"  I  would  give  eeny  thing,  if  I  only  could  agin  see 
my  dear  Tom,"  said  Dinah. 

"  Dar,  dar !  I  know'd  JSTelly  war  wrong,"  whispered 
Tom. 

"Hist!  unless  you  are  ready  to  go  back  to  the 
street,"  said  Hard. 

"  Lucinda  told  dis  nigger  to  be  sure  an'  see  um, 
afore  I  left  de  North,"  said  Pompey. 

"  Mebbe,  we  shall  see  him  at  the  Falls.  Missis 
Mary  told  me,  she  hoped  I  might,"  replied  Dinah. 

"  I  wonder  how  he  likes  his  state  of  freedom  ? 
Heigh,  ho !  the  old  boat  kept  me  awake  last  night. 
I  wish  massa  home  from  the  theatre,"  remarked 
Pompey. 

They  soon  retired  from  the  window,  and  Tom  and 
old  Hard  picked  their  way  back  to  the  street. 

There  was  no  doubt  now,  in  the  fugitive's  mind,  of 
the  presence  of  his  master  in  the  city.  And  if  lie  har 
bored  any  suspicion  of  the  fidelity  of  his  wife,  that  was 
removed  by  the  interview,  and  he  could  not  bear  the 
thought  of  never  beholding  her  again.  If  he  could 
have  a  chance  to  talk  with  her,  he  believed  that  he 
could  persuade  her  to  remain  at  the  North,  and  flee 


431 

with  liim  to  Canada.  How  to  accomplish  this,  he  did 
not  know.  He  was  afraid  to  approach  his  master,  and 
yet  he  felt  as  though  he  would  like  to  take  him  by  the 
hand.  And  as  for  Pompey,  how  much  did  he  wish  to 
hear  him  tell  over  what  had  transpired  since  he  left 
the  cabin.  He  hurried  back  with  Hard  to  the  washer 
woman.  He  rehearsed  to  Nelly  what  conversation  he 
heard  between  the  two  slaves,  and  insisted  that  he 
would  not  cross  the  Niagara  until  he  had  seen  more 
of  his  wife,  whatever  might  be  the  consequences  to 
himself.  She  again  urged  him  to  make  his  escape 
good,  but  to  no  purpose,  and  dismissed  the  subject. 

Hard  advised  him  to  contrive  some  way  to  get  pos 
session  of  his  wife.  That  done,  and  the  fugitive  thought 
his  fortune  would  be  better,  and  himself  contented. 
After  canvassing  the  subject,  they  concluded  the 
planter  did  not  mistrust  that  Tom  was  in  Buffalo,  and 
therefore,  the  fugitive  need  not  continue  in  such  close 
confinement.  If  he  kept  out  of  the  sight  of  his  master, 
it  was  all  that  was  necessary. 

"And  now,"  said  Hard,  "will  you  stand  fire,  and 
not  run,  if  we  really  undertake  to  run  your  wife  across 
the  river?" 

"  Yas ;  depend  on 't,"  replied  Tom. 

"Not  even  if  she  should  take  it  into  her  head  to 
scream,  and  faint,  and  all  that  ? " 

"  No,  no.  Do  evil  that  good  may  come,  you  know," 
said  the  fugitive,  with  more  cheerfulness  of  manner 
than  he  had  exhibited  for  a  long  time. 

"  Very  good.  I  will  take  a  look  at  the  subject, 
and  see  how  the  thing  can  be  brought  about.  Meet 


432  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

me  on  the  canal  bridge,  in  the  morning,  and  we  will 
talk  further.  I  shall  have  some  ideas  to  give  you, 
I  '11  warrant  ye.  So,  good  night  to  you,  and  do  n't 
let  me  catch  you  blubbering  agin,"  said  Hard  ;  and 
after  suggesting  to  the  washer-woman  to  let  Tom's  fears 
alone,  he  left  the  house  and  went  down  town,  de 
lighted  that  he  had  so  much  work  on  his  hands.  It 
was  this  kind  which  suited  his  fancy,  and  he  would 
on  no  account  lose  the  fun  in  prospect. 

After  the  fugitive  got  to  bed  that  night,  he  won 
dered  why  it  was  that  Pompey  and  Dinah  did  not 
long  to  be  free,  like  himself;  and  much  more  was  he 
amazed,  that  his  master  ventured  to  take  them  to 
Buffalo.  He  thought  more  of  him  than  ever  before. 
He  must  have  a  confiding  heart,  and  be  unconscious 
that  slaves  desired  to  change  their  condition.  Tom 
thought  it  would  be  too  bad  to  decoy  Dinah  away, 
and  felt  half-inclined  to  abandon  the  project. 

In  the  morning,  he  kept  his  word  with  Hard,  punc 
tually.  There  was  quite  a  stir  in  the  vicinity  of  the 
bridge,  it  being  the  hour  for  the  departure  of  the 
packet  boat  eastward.  The  crowd  had  pretty  much 
dispersed,  before  his  old  friend  appeared  at  the  ren 
dezvous. 

"Hullo,  Nelly,  is  that  you!     I  heard  you  was  com 
ing,  but  I  did  not  believe  a  bit  of  it,"  said  Hard  to  the 
washer-woman,  who  had  just  then  reached  the  bridge. 
"It  is  necessary;  I  take  too  deep  an  interest,"  said 
she. 

""Well,  mum  is  the  word  —  mind   that,  now.     No 
tales,  nor  whining,"  he  replied. 


433 

"  Wha'  makes  you  so  late?"  asked  Tom. 

"Cholera  morbus." 

"Who?" 

"  The  cholera  —  cholera  morbus,  I  think  they  call  it." 

"  Oh  !  sick,  Jim  ? "  inquired  Nelly. 

"No,  not  myself.  Prevalent  down  here  —  several 
dead." 

"Dead!     Who?" 

"Two,  I  believe.     I  think  two." 

"What  are  their  names?"  asked  Nelly,  who  had 
many  acquaintances  in  the  lower  part  of  the  city. 

"The  barber  on  Water  street,  and  fourteen  other 
people." 

"  Good  heavens  ! " 

"  Yes,  there  were  ten  of  them.     Their  time  is  up." 

"  Well,  be  quick  now ;  talk  fast.  What  you  got  to 
say?"  said  Nelly,  who  was  afraid  of  the  disease,  and 
did  not  wish  to  remain  in  the  hot  sun  any  longer  than 
was  necessary. 

"  Seen  her,  Tom,  since  ? "  asked  Hard. 

"  No ;  I  come  down  the  back  street." 

"  I  have,  though,"  said  Nelly. 

"  Look  amiable  —  cross  —  did  n't  care,  eh  ? ' 

"She  was  at  the  candy  store  agin,"  said  Nelly. 

"  You  do  n't !  What  a  sweet  creature —  yah  !  yah ! 
yah!" 

"  What  you  mean  by  dat  ? "  asked  Tom,  in  a  voice 
that  showed  he  resented  the  remark. 

"  Do  n't  vex  yourself ;  it 's  all  right,"  replied  Hard. 

"Well,  why  do  n't  you  tell  it?  not  keep  us  waiting 


LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  ;    OE 

here  all  the  morning,"  said  Nelly,  growing  more 
impatient. 

"  Do  you  know  Jake,  the  cook?  "  asked  Hard. 

"  Jake  !  where  does  he  cook  ?  " 

"  On  the  steamboat  what  runs  to  the  other  end  of 
the  lake." 

"  O,  yes ;  I  am  acquainted  with  the  gemman,"  said 
Nelly. 

"  He  recollects  um." 

"  Who  do  you  mean  —  Dinah  ? " 

"  Of  course ;  who  else  we  talking  about  ?  He  says 
he  will  stay  over  and  take  a  hand  in  ;  and  he  is  a  blood, 
let  me  tell  you  that.  He  come  near  killing  his  over 
seer,  off  there  somewhere.  His  master  was  glad  to 
sell  him  cheap,  and  they  raised  a  distribution  for  him, 
and  he  got  his  freedom  — yah  !  yah  !  yah !  " 

"  Take  me  whar'  he  is  ?  I  Jd  like  to  talk  wid  um," 
said  Tom. 

"  Oh !  you  can  rely  on  him,"  remarked  Hard. 

"  He  is  on  the  boat,  I  s'pose,"  said  Nelly. 

"  Do  n't  you  believe  that.  He  has  gone  up  the 
creek  to  look  for  a  little  sail  craft  lying  up  there.  I  'm 
to  meet  him  at  noon,  below  the  ship  canal,"  said  Hard. 

"  And  then  you  are  to  arrange  it  are  you  ?  "  asked 
Nelly. 

"Arranged!  "What  you  talking  for?  All  settled 
now  ;  you  ought  to  know  this  chap  better  than  to  s'pcct 
1  'd  leave  things  half  done.  I  tell  you,  it 's  all  settled. 
The  point  now  is,  to  have  Dinah  at  the  boat,"  said 
Hard. 

"At  noon?  "  asked  Nelly. 


±35 

"Why  not?  I  had  as  lief  fight  in  the  daytime  a8 
in  the  night.  I  had  rather.  Then  I  can  see  better 
where  to  strike." 

"  You  are  not  going  to  fight,  are  you  ?  "  asked  Nelly. 

"  There  it  comes.  I  was  afeerd  you  would  blubber, 
if  I  told  you  nothing.  Fight!  of  coarse  we  are  going 
to  fight,  if  necessary.  But  no  matter  for  that.  Can 
you  do  anything  ?  Corne,  show  your  hand.  You  seem 
to  want  to  take  a  part  in  the  business.  What  can  you 
do?  "asked  Hard. 

"  I  do  n't  know,  Jim,  except  to  look  on." 

"  Shall  I  tell  you  what  you  can  do,  Nelly? " 

"Of  course." 

"  You  can  fall  in  with  Dinah  somewhere,  and  coax 
her  to  the  boat.  That 's  what  you  can  do.  Jake  and 
myself  will  do  the  rest." 

"Yes,  yes;  so  I  can;  and  I'll  try  it  too,"  said 
Nelly. 

"That's  it.  Now,  you  talk  like  somebody.  Per 
haps,  she  is  still  in  the  street.  You  go  and  look.  And 
mind  you,  do  n't  take  no  for  an  answer." 

"  Yes,  Jim,  you  can  rely  on  me,"  said  Nelly,  turn 
ing  to  go  off  the  bridge. 

"  That 's  the  way  to  talk  it.  Tom,  you  come  with 
ine.  Do  n't  forget,  Nelly,  the  place,"  said  Hard. 

"  Not  a  bit.     I  'in  posted  on  that,"  she  replied. 

It  was  nearer  night  than  noon,  before  Jake  moored 
his  little  sail  vessel  at  the  point  agreed  upon.  His 
companions  had  waited  some  time.  They  were  quickly 
aboard.  Jake  was  armed  with  a  bowie  knife,  ready 
for  any  assault;  and  he  looked  as  though  he  would  use 


436  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OK 

it  with  a  will,  if  necessary.  He  wore  a  heavy  neck 
cloth,  loosely  tied,  and  extending  half-way  <lown  the 
front  of  his  body ;  which  he  said  could  be  used  as  a 
gag,  if  the  woman  made  any  outcry.  Some  sailor 
noticing  the  craft,  inquired  where  she  was  bound,  and 
Jake  remarked  that  they  wrere  going  down  the  river  to 
fish.  The  answer  undoubtedly  was  satisfactory;  for 
he  had  taken  the  precaution  to  get  a  couple  of  poles 
and  fish  lines,  which  lay  in  full  sight.  Hard  infoi  med 
him  that  Nelly  had  undertaken  the  job  of  persuading 
the  woman  to  come  down  to  the  boat ;  and  all  they 
had  to  do,  in  the  meantime,  was  to  wait  in  patience. 
An  hour  or  so  elapsed,  and  she  did  not  make  her  ap 
pearance.  Jake  suggested  that  Hard  should  go  ashore 
and  take  a  look.  To  this  proposition  the  latter  made 
no  objection,  as  he  had  not  tasted  a  drop  of  liquor  for 
at  least  three  hours ;  and  left  his  friend  Tom  in  charge 
of  the  free  negro. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  439 


CHAPTEE  XXX. 

COURAGE,  GRATITUDE,  AND  CONTENTMENT. 

Nelly  did  not  find  Dinah  at  the  confectioners ; 
neither  could  she  get  a  sight  of  her  in  the  street.  She 
lingered  on  the  sidewalk  opposite  the  hotel,  so  long  as 
she  deemed  it  prudent,  and  then  went  home.  It  would 
be  uncharitable  to  say  she  did  not  regret  her  inability 
to  execute  the  errand ;  but,  however  that  may  have 
been,  she  did  not  disguise  to  Mr.  Easy,  whom  she  met 
on  the  way,  her  hope  that  the  sailors,  in  any  event, 
would  take  the  fugitive  to  Canada. 

Unwilling  to  be  censured  for  not  making  every  rea 
sonable  effort,  after  dinner  Nelly  sallied  out  again.  It 
so  happened,  that  she  saw  Dinah  going  into  a  public 
garden,  near  the  hotel,  and  as  she  approached  the  door, 
she  halted  for  the  slave  to  come  out.  It  was  not  long 
before  the  latter  made  her  appearance,  with  her  hands 
full  of  oranges. 

"You  have  bought  so  many,  I  guess  you  are  from 
the  South,"  said  Nelly,  with  a  half-smile  and  pointing 
to  the  fruit. 

"No  whar  else,  I'm  thinking,"  replied  the  slave, 
and  evincing  no  disposition  to  stop. 


440  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"  How  far  arc  yon  traveling  ?  "  asked  Nelly. 

"  Guine  to  de  Falls,"  she  replied. 

"  Is  your  name  Dinah? "  again  asked  Nelly. 

The  slave  had  almost  passed  the  washer- woman,  but 
upon  hearing  the  last  question,  she  suddenly  looked 
around,  and  said,  with  surprise, 

"  Whar  did  you  hear  that  ?  " 

"  Oh !  nothing ;  only  I  thought  I  would  make  bold 
to  put  the  question.  No  offence,  I  hope  ?  "  said  Nelly. 

"  Yes,  my  name  am  Dinah." 

"I  thought  as  much;  if  I  could  get  a  chance,  I 
would  tell  you  some  good  news,"  said  Nelly. 

Dinah  did  not  know  what  to  make  of  the  stranger. 

"Who  are  you?"  she  inquired,  earnestly. 

"  Oh !  my  name  is  Nelly ;  I  lives  in  this  town." 

"  I  neber  seed  you,  afore,"  remarked  Dinah,  and 
turned  her  head.  "  I  hab  no  time  to  talk  —  missus  is 
waitin',"  she  added. 

"Would  you  like  to  see  Tom?"  asked  Nelly  in  a 
low  voice. 

"  Who?     My  Tom,  d  'ye  say  ? " 

"  Yes,  he  that  run  away  from  his  master  several 
years  ago." 

"  Oh  !  bless  you,  yes  !  but  dat  's  out  o1  de  question," 
replied  the  slave,  and  started  on. 

"  I  can  show  him  to  you,  if  you  will  go  with  me," 
said  Nelly,  walking  the  same  way. 

"When?  whar?" 

"  Now,  if  you  says  so  —  eeny  time  ;  he  is  not  far  off." 

Dinah  did  not  know  what  to  say  or  do.  She  thought 
a  moment. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  441 

"  I  wish  to  hear  you  talk  more  ;  but  I  'm  afeerd 
missis  will  not  like  it,  if  I  stop  longer,  she  is  waitin' 
for  me,"  said  Dinah. 

"  No  matter ;  you  come  out  to  the  street,  back  of  the 
hotel,  and  I  will  meet  you  there,"  said  Kelly. 

"  Da 's  it ;  I  '11  be  thai-  in  a  jiff,"  said  Dinah,  and 
at  once  crossed  the  street,  her  heart  throbbing  with 

joy- 
Nelly  lost  no  time  in  getting  into  Pearl  street.     She 
found  Dinah  in  an  alley  conducting  to  it  from   the 
back  door  of  the  hotel,  and  invited  her  to  walk  down 
the  street. 

"  We  wrill  not  stand  here,  we  may  be  observed ;  we 
will  talk  as  we  go,"  said  the  washer- worn  an,  and  Dinah 
very  willingly  complied  with  the  request. 

"  Whar  am  Tommy  ? "  she  asked,  as  they  were 
walking  along. 

"Not  far  off;  you  must  promise  not  to  tell  your 
missis,"  said  Dinah. 

"No,  no  ;  I  does  no  sich  thing,"  she  replied. 

"  Nor  your  master;  nor  no  one,"  said  Dinah. 

"  Nobody ;  I  shall  not  betray  him,"  she  declared. 

"Very  good.  I  am  taking  you  to  him  now;  so, 
hurry  your  steps,  and  you  will  see  him  the  sooner," 
said  Nelly,  as  they  reached  Erie  street,  which  lead  to 
the  spot  where  the  sail  vessel  was  anchored. 

"Yes,  I  '11  keep  up.  The  faster  we  go,  the  better  to 
my  feelin's,"  said  the  slave.  "How  far  is  it?"  she 
asked. 

"  Do  you  see  the  creek,  yonder  ?  " 

"  O  yes ;  in  plain  sight,"  replied  Dinah. 


442  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  ;    OK 

"lie  is  aboard  of  a  vessel,  there,  I  s'pose;  lie  prom 
ised  to  be,"  said  the  washer-woman,  almost  out  of 
breath,  from  walking  so  rapidly.  The  slave  thought 
too  much  about  seeing  her  husband  to  mind  the 
fatigue  ;  indeed,  the  faster  she  walked,  the  greater  was 
her  desire  to  increase  the  speed. 

"  Oh,  bless  me!  how  glad  I  am,  to  think  I  'm  guine 
to  see  him,"  said  Dinah. 

"You  will  not  wish  to  leave  him,  I  guess,"  remarked 
Nelly. 

"No,  no;  that  you  may  depend  on,"  said  Dinah. 

"There,  I  know'd  it  would  be  so;  I  told  Jim 
Hard  there  was  no  danger  of  your  backing  out.  Of 
course,  you  would  go  to  Canada  with  him,"  said 
Nelly,  as  they  reached  the  bridge  which  crossed  a 
ship-canal. 

"What's  dat  ?  d'ye  say  go  to  Canada?"  said  Di 
nah,  and  stopped. 

"  Why,  certainly  ;  your  husband  is  in  the  boat  now, 
waiting  to  take  you  to  the  other  side  of  the  river,"  said 
Kelly. 

"  No,  no ;  I  'in  not  guine  to  his  state  of  freedom," 
said  Dinah,  stretching  up  her  neck,  to  get  a  glimpse 
of  him,  if  possible. 

"Why,  how  you  talk,  woman!  you  will  not  go  and 
live  with  your  own  dear  husband?  Yes,  you  will, 
though  ;  come  along — we  shall  soon  be  aboard,"  said 
Nelly. 

The  slave  did  not  move,  or  speak;  but  the  tears  fell 
in  streams  from  her  eyes.  The  washer-woman  gazed 
upon  her  with  the  most  profound  astonishment.  This 


UNCLE  TOM'S  OABLN  AS  IT  IS.  443 

was  a  new  freak  in  human  nature.  The  idea  that  the 
slave  would  not  embrace  her  freedom,  when  it  was 
within  her  grasp  !  and,  above  all,  ur-villing  to  go  and 
share  it  with  her  husband  !  Sucl  conduct  was  a  per 
fect  enigma — r  it  was  unnatur^.  She  began  to  think 
that  the  slave  didTiot  care  or  Tom. 

"  You  are  willing  to  aoandon  poor  Tom  then,  are 
you?  You're  a  inferable  creature,  that 's  what  you 
be  ;  unwilling  to  ve  with  your  husband !  Oh !  I  see 
how  it  is;  yo*.*  have  no  affection  for -him!  it's  all 
pretence,  this  desire  to  look  at  him.  You  will  go, 
I  s'pose,  and  inform  your  master  what  I  have  told  you. 
If  you  do,  you  had  n't  better  stay  in  this  town  long  — 
that  I  can  tell  you,  any  how,"  said  Nelly,  vexed  with 
the  slave. 

"Are  you  married?  "  asked  Dinah,  after  a  moment 
or  two. 

"  Yes ;  but  my  husband  —  bless  his  good  heart !  is 
long  since  dead." 

"  Have  you  children  ? "  again  asked  Dinah. 

u  To  be  sure  I  have — two  ;  and  I  love  them  dearly. 
Why  do  you  ask  the  question?  "  inquired  Nelly. 

"  Which  would  you  'bandon,  if  boun'    to  choose?" 

It  was  Nelly's  turn  now  to  make  no  answer. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  asked  Dinah. 

"  A  hard  question  ;  excuse  me,"  said  Nelly. 

"  Dat's  my  situation." 

"Ah!  yes,  I  remember;  Tom  told  me  he  had  chil 
dren  at  the  South.  Well,  you  can  go  and  see  him; 
perhaps,  he  will  not  force  you  to  go,"  remarked 
Nelly. 


444  LIFE    AT    TIJtt    SOUTH  ;    OK 

"No,  n«> ;  I  stirs  not  a  stop!  My  heart  breaks  to 
see  him:  I  will  stay  here  till  you  go  an'  ax  him  to 
come,"  said  Dinah. 

The  washer-woman  perceived  that  was  the  only 
alternative,  and  left  the  slave  on  the  bridge,  whilst  she 
went  to  report  to  Torn.  She  was  unable  to  find  him ; 
Jake's  delay  in  coming  dowrn  the  creek  with  the  boat 
was  the  reason.  Nelly  was  at  a  loss  to  understand 
why  the  rescuers  were  not  at  the  point  designated  ;  and 
after  looking  around  unsuccessfully  to  find  them,  she 
returned  to  Dinah. 

"They  are  gone;  I  suspect  the  project  is  ah  n- 
donecV  said  Nelly. 

"  I  am  sorry — very  sorry.  Do  n't  you  s'p<*v  shall 
be  able  to  see  my  Tommy,  good  woman  '  asked 
Dinah. 

"When  do  you  leave  town?" 

"Missis  Mary  says,  to-morrow." 

"Could  you  get  out  of  the  hotel  '*  night?" 

"I  could  try  urn,"  said  the  slnv  » 

"Tom,  to  tell  you  the  whole  ir  it;,  boards  with  me ; 
he  was  brought  to  my  house,  si  '*/'  said  Nelly. 

"  Sick !  has  the  poor  mar  ^een  sick  ? "  earnestly 
asked  Dinah. 

"  I  guess  you  would  1  ave  thought  so,  if  you  had 
seen  him  ;  he  lay  next  f:»  death's  door,  for  weeks." 

"  "When  war  this  <  "  asked  Dinah. 

"  Last  winter ;  he  was  frozen  in  the  snow,"  said 
Nelly. 

Dinah  gave  a  shudder. 

"  I  told  him  dat,  the  night  he  left  the  cabin ;  but  he 


445 

war  so  headstrong,  it  made  no  difference  wid  his  feel- 
ins',"  said  she. 

"  He  is  well,  now.  I  nursed  him  night  and  day ; 
he  had  all  my  attention.  I  like  him.  He  is  a  well 
disposed  man  —  much  self- will,  though :  I  do  n't  blame 
him  for  that— it  's  nat'ral,"  said  Nelly. 

"How  grateful  I  feel  to  you;  I'll  ax  missis  Mary 
for  a  present,"  said  Dinah. 

"  Why,  woman,  you  must  not  do  that !  Tom  will  be 
discovered  at  once !  ~No ;  do  n't  you  do  that  for  the 
world !  mind,  now,"  exclaimed  Dinah,  almost  sorry 
that  she  mentioned  Tom's  illness. 

"  Sure  enough  ;  but  if  I  can  git  anything  for  you,  I 
will,  and  hand  it  to  you  to-night,  in  de  alley.  An'  if 
you  h'nd  Tommy,  bring  him  with  you,"  said  Dinah. 

"  Yes  ;  we  will  consider  that  the  arrangement,"  said 
Nelly. 

They  had  reached  Pearl  street  on  their  return,  and 
the  washer-woman  hastened  to  her  house,  to  tell  the 
fugitive  what  she  had  done,  if  he  chanced  to  be  at 
home. 

Dinah  had  been  gone  from  the  hotel  for  more  than 
an  hour.  Her  absence  was  not  noticed  by  the  planter 
or  his  children.  But  not  so  with  Pompey ;  he  missed 
her;  and  when  she  came  in,  was  anxious  to  know 
where  she  had  strayed.  She  made  light  of  his  ques 
tions,  and  went  to  Mary's  room,  to  see  if  she  was 
wanted. 

Mary  and  her  brother  were  discussing  the  question 
of  freedom,  and  the  relative  condition  of  happiness 

of  the  bond  and  the  free.     And  the  former,  with  the 
19* 


446  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OB 

view  of  quizzing  the  honest,  faithful,  good  hearted 
slave,  asked  her  how  she  would  like  to  be  her  own 
mistress. 

"  La  sakes  !  missis  Mary,  I  would  n't  he  free,  for 
nofiin,"  she  said. 

u  Tut,  tut,  Dinah!  now  be  honest  for  once,"  said 
Mary,  pleasantly. 

"  I  told  you  de  truth  already,"  affirmed  the  slave. 

"  What !     Do  you  pretend  to  say  that  you  want  us 
to  take  you  home  to  Oakland  again?"  asked  Mary  — 
frivolously,  it  is  true. 

"Yes,  missis;  I  wouldn't  stay  here  an'  freeze  — 
I  '11  warrant.  No,  no  ;  not  I,"  said  Dinah. 

"  Very  good.  See  if  there  is  any  water  in  the 
pitcher,  Dinah." 

"  All  gone,  missis." 

"Pull  the  bell,  Dinah  ;  I  am  very  thirsty." 

u  Yes,  missis." 

"I  don't  see,  Dinah,  but  that  we  must  keep  you, 
then." 

"I  hope  so,  missis." 

"  Well,  if  you  are  going  to  return,  Dinah,  look 
around,  and  improve  your  time;  see  all  you  can.  We 
go  down  to  Niagara  in  the  morning  train,"  said 
Mary. 

alt  is  amusing  to  hear  Pompey  and  Dinah  make 
their  remarks  about  the  blacks  they  see  in  the  street," 
remarked  Frederick,  after  Dinah  went  out. 

"I  really  do  not  believe  there  is  one  in  fifty  half  as 
well  cared  fur  as  our  slaves  ;  I  'm  sure  1  have  not  seen 
any  that  began  to  look  as  tidy  or  comfortable  as  our 


447 

Dinah.  No  wonder  that  she  dislikes  the  idea  of  re 
maining  here,"  said  Mary. 

Pompey  was  watching  for  Dinah  at  the  head  of  the 
first  flight  of  stairs.  He  was  determined  she  should 
not  run  out  of  the  hotel  again,  without  his  knowing  it. 
And  although  Mary's  room  was  in  the  third  story,  the 
door  to  it  was  in  full  view.  This  hotel,  reader,  was 
indeed  sui  generis  —  to  borrow  a  homely  phrase  from 
the  classics  —  in  America.  Its  pattern,  it  is  said,  can 
be  seen  in  Marseilles,  France.  It  was  —  pshaw  !  we 
will  not  stop  to  describe  its  remarkably  easy  flights  of 
stairs,  one  exactly  above  the  other,  to  an  altitude  of 
one  hundred  and  fifty  feet;  its  wide  and  spacious  halls; 
its  high,  airy,  and  commodious  rooms;  its  multitude 
of  parlors,  both  public  and  private,  when  every  nook 
and  corner  is  familiar  to — we  know  not  how  many, 
who  have  tarried  for  a  day  or  week  in  the  Venice  of 
the  western  world !  We  will  pass  it  over,  and  come 
back  to  the  simple  narrative. 

Pompey  saw  Dinah  when  she  came  out  of  Mary's 
room,  and  he  kept  his  eyes  upon  her,  as  she  brushed 
along  the  balustrade,  and  descended  the  stairs. 

"  Whar'  you  guine  now,  Miss  Dinah  ? "  he  asked. 

"How  berry  particular  you  am,  Pompey,"  she  said. 

"  Oh  !  I  ax  your  pardon,  if  you  are  ashamed  of  dis 
nigger.  I  '11  not  intrude,"  remarked  Pompey,  turning 
his  back,  and  whisking  down  stairs. 

"Pompey,  you  ar  n't  offended,  I  hopes;  I  war  only 
talkin',"  she  said,  as  they  walked  to  the  rear  of  the 
building,  on  the  first  floor.  "  I  likes  your  company," 
she  added. 


4AS 

"  Berry  good ;  dat  's  all,  Dinah.  I  'm  at  your  ser 
vice,"  he  said. 

"I  've  got  something  to  mention  to  yon,  Pompey." 

"Spoke  um,  Dinah  —  spoke  uin,"  said  he. 

"What  do  you  s'pose  I  have  heard,  Pompey?" 

"  Dunno  —  dunno." 

"You  wo  n't  believe  me,  if  I  tell  you." 

"Try  um  —  try  um." 

"  I  hav  n't  seed  my  Tommy." 

"  I  s'pects  not.     "Who  said  you  had  ?  " 

"  Pompey,  you  are  berry  obstinate." 

"Whar'  did  you  go,  Dinah?  Tell  me  that,  and 
then  I  '11  be  perlite  an'  sociable,"  said  Pompey. 

"  Why  ax  sich  foolish  question  ?  I  told  you  I  walk'd 
down  street;  dat 's  all,  Pompey,"  said  Dinah. 

"There  it  is  ;  now  you  talk  um  ;  dat 's  do  way.  Dis 
nigger  am  not  particular;  he  only  wants  to  know  — 
not  particular." 

"  Missis  says  enjoy  myself.  I  'm  guine  to  walk 
agin,"  said  Dinah. 

"  Am  guine,  too.     What  war'  you  'bout  to  say  ?  " 

"  Noffin,  Pompey." 

"What 'bout  Uncle  Tom?" 

"  Noffin." 

"  Now,  you  ar'  obstinate,  Dinah.  You  hab  seen 
him ;  I  know'd  you  have.  Own  up,  now." 

"  Oh!  no,  no!  but  I  expect  to  see  him  with  my  own 
eyes ;  an'  to-night,  too,"  replied  Dinah. 

"To-night!" 

"Yes,  dis  berry  night!  " 

«  Whar'—  whar',  Dinah  3  " 


UNCLE  TOM'8  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  449 

"In  the  street." 

"  Ah,  ha !  you  guine  to  run  off?     Now  1  know'd  it." 

"  He  wants  me  to  go  to  Canada ;  but  I  shall  not 
do  so.  I  likes  massa  an'  missis  Mary  too  well,"  she 
replied,  with  apparent  sincerity. 

"  To  make  sure,  dis  nigger  goes  wid  you." 

"  Will  you,  Pornpey?" 

"  Certainly.     I  likes  to  look  at  de  ole  fellar." 

"  Dat  's  right.  I  '11  call  to  you  when  it 's  time," 
said  she. 

"  I  know'd  you  would.  But,  you  must  n't  think  of 
running  off;  I  '11  go  agin  dat,"  replied  Pompey. 

"  I  tell  you,  I  'm  not  guine  to  think  of  it ;  do  n't 
mention  um  agin,"  said  Dinah,  vexed  to  be  suspected. 

After  dusk,  Dinah  contrived  to  get  into  the  alley  in 
the  rear  of  the  hotel,  without  the  knowledge  of  Pom 
pey.  Nelly  met  her  there,  as  she  promised  ;  but  Tom 
did  not  accompany  her.  She  had  not  seen  him  since 
the  interview  with  Dinah,  in  the  afternoon.  Her 
presence,  however,  was  no  less  the  welcome  to  the 
slave. 

"  Take  that  for  your  pains,"  said  Dinah,  handing  to 
the  washer-woman  a  few  pennies. 

"  Thank  'e,  good  woman,"  replied  Nelly,  "  you  ought 
to  be  free." 

"  Do  n't  speak  dat,"  she  answered ;  "  my  money 
comes  from  missis  Mary.  An'  please  give  this  to 
Tommy,"  she  added,  handing  to  the  washerwoman 
a  half-dollar. 

"  By  all  means,  I  will ;  how  he  will  be  gratified ! " 
ehe  said. 


450  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"  Tell  him  it  am  from  his  dear  Dinah,  and  how  sorry 
she  is,  not  to  see  him,"  said  the  slave. 

"Yes,  yes:  that  I  will,"  answered  the  washer 
woman. 

"  Say  to  him,  that  our  children  are  all  well,  and 
how  often  they  ask  for  him,"  said  the  slave. 

"Oh!  how  he  will  be  affected!"  said  the  washer 
woman. 

"Tell  him  of  his  ole  hickory  cane,  with  Emily's  lace 
cut  into  the  head ;  and  how  it  stands  in  the  corner 
under  the  cupboard,  jist  as  it  did  the  night  he  left  the 
cabin,"  enjoined  the  slave. 

"  Everything  you  want  me  to  say,"  replied  the 
washer-woman. 

"An'  say  to  him,  how  much  we  want  him  to  come 
back  an'  sit  under  the  veranda,"  said  the  slave. 

"Yes." 

"  Tell  him  all  this,  an'  my  ole  heart  will  neber  for 
get  you  —  neber!"  reiterated  Dinah. 

"All  —  all  shall  be  told  him,"  replied  the  washer 
woman;  and  they  separated. 

Dinah  wras  disappointed  not  to  see  her  husband ; 
but  she  felt  some  comfort  to  have  it  in  her  power 
to  make  him  a  present,  however  humble  it  might  be, 
and  to  be  near  enough  to  him  to  send  these  simple 


451 


CHAPTEE   XXXI. 

NIAGARA   FALLS CLIFTON   HOUSE CANADA. 

We  stated,  a  few  pages  back,  that  Hard  started  from 
the  little  sail-boat  in  the  creek,  to  see  if  he  could  find 
Nelly.  He  went  to  the  house  on  Vine  street,  and  not 
finding  her  in,  concluded  to  go  over  the  way,  and  call 
on  Mr.  Easy.  He  did  not  find  this  gentleman  in, 
either.  Instead  of  going  back  to  the  washer-woman's 
domicil,  and  there  remaining  until  she  returned,  he 
made  his  way  back  to  the  creek.  He  loitered  at  a 
place  where  the  occupant  sold  grog  for  a  penny  or  two 
a  drink,  and  so  long  a  while  that  it  was  time  for  the 
occupants  of  the  neighboring  buildings  to  close  up  fur 
the  night,  before  he  thought  of  leaving. 

Jake,  the  free  negro,  grew  tired  of  waiting,  and 
wondered  wThy  neither  Hard  nor  Nelly  reported  them 
selves.  He  thought  it  was  an  imposition,  and  vented 
his  spleen  upon  Tom.  The  fugitive,  of  course,  was 
ignorant  of  the  trouble,  and  endeavored  to  excuse  his 
ignorance;  but  to  no  purpose.  Jake  imagined  that  it 
was  a  contrived  plan,  to  throw  the  entire  responsibility 


452  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OK 

of  the  enterprise  upon  his  shoulders.  It  wouldn't  do 
not  to  make  some  use  of  the  vessel,  for  he  would  be  the 
iaughing-stock  of  the  crew  on  the  steamboat.  Besides, 
for  the  past  three  hours,  he  had  repeatedly  said  to 
the  sailors  and  boys,  he  was  going  down  the  river,  to 
fish. 

"Tona,"  said  he,  "did  you  ever  use  the  fish-pole?  " 

"  O  yes  ;  alwars  drop  the  sinkers,  when  it  rains, 
afore  I  come  North,"  he  replied. 

"Well,  we  will  try  our  hand  to-night,  at  the  Rock ; 
I  guess  they  may  bite  some." 

"  Guine  fishinc;  in  earnest,  Jake  ? " 

O 

"  Yes  ;  d'  ye  spose  I  'm  to  have  all  this  trouble  for 
nothing  ? " 

"  An'  leave  Dinah  ?  "  asked  the  fugitive. 

"  Leave  her?  we  hain't  got  her,  yit." 

"  Oh !  she  will  trot  along  on  de  beach  in  a  minute  ; 
do  n't  be  in  a  hurry,  I  hate  to  go  so." 

"  No,  sir." 

"  Guine  now,  capt'in  ?  " 

"To  be  sure ;  do  you  know  'nough  to  steer? " 

"Notsich  big  vessel  as  this,"  answered  Tom,  sur 
prised  that  the  free  negro  should  imagine  he  could. 

"Big  vessel?  why,  man,  I  can  guide  it  with  one 
hand." 

"Duimo,"  said  the  fugitive,  slinking  his  head. 

"  Wall,  I  know ;  do  you  take  me  for  a  child  ?  " 

"  She  will  go  on  to  the  rock,  I  'in  afeerd ;  less  wait  a 
little  longer." 

"  I  'in  off." 


TJNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  453 

"  An'  leave  friend  Hard  ? "  inquired  the  fugitive, 
anxiously. 

"  Ha  !  haw !  haw !  leave  Hard  ?  He  has  left  him 
self,  already,  in  some  rum-hole,  I  '11  bet." 

"  Reckon  not,  capt'in." 

"Reckon  not!  why,  you  don't  know  that  old  rip 
as  well  as  I  do.  He  never  shuts  his  mouth,  as  long  as 
the  bung-hole  runs  :  he  is  laid  up  for  the  night,  I  '11  bet." 

"  He  thinks  too  much  of  Dinah,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"  What  a  fool  you  be !  Did  he  ebber  see  the 
woman  ? "  . 

"  Reckon  not." 

"  And  you  s'pose  he  cares  a  fig  for  her?  " 

u  Why,  yes,  capt'in.  He  would  not  miss  the  chance 
of  helpin1,  for  any  thing." 

"  Exactly  ;  and  d'  ye  want  to  know  the  cause  ?  " 

"  Yes,  capt'in." 

"  Kase  he  has  nothin'  to  do ;  and,  if  the  truth  was 
known,  he  expects  liquor  aboard.  Did  you  see  how 
ready  he  was  to  go  and  look  for  the  washer-woman  ?  " 
asked  Jake. 

"Yes;  an'  'kase  he  ar'  for  freedom — dat 's  de 
reason." 

"Fudge!  he  was  dry;  I  know'd  it,  but  I  didn't 
know  but  he  might  light  upon  her,  somewhere,  and  so 
help  along.  We  have  waited,  and  we  may  wait  till 
morning,  and  that 's  all  the  good  it  will  do.  We  shall 
see  no  Dinah,  nor  any  one  else  of  the  crew,"  said  the 
free  negro. 

"  Dat 's  him  coining  now — thar  on  the  dock  ;  do  n't 
you  see,  capt'in  ? "  said  the  fugitive,  trying  to  delay. 


454:  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"Over  where?  I  see  most  everybody  but  that  old 
rip.  !N"o,  no;  we  shall  not  see  him  again  to-night, 
so,  if  you  do  n't  know  'nongh  to  hold  the  rudder,  be 
ballast,  and  get  yourself  into  the  bottom,  and  I  will  do 
the  rest:  we  are  off,  the  first  breeze — do  you  hear 
that  1  "  said  the  free  negro,  with  as  much  pomposity 
as  if  he  trod  the  quarter  deck  of  a  brig. 

The  fugitive  evinced  the  same  servility  as  if  he  had 
been  on  board  of  a  man-of-war.  lie  stood  in  as  much 
awe  of  Jake,  as  if  he  had  been  a  commodore,  with  the 
broad  pennant  flying  in  the  breeze. 

"  I  '11  go  an'  find  my  friend  Hard,"  answered  the 
fugitive 

"  !N"o  you  do  n't  though.  You  will  go  and  help  find 
fish.  You  find  the  ole  rip!  Why,  he  would  lead  you 
till  next  wreek,  for  there  is  no  telling  what  covey  he 
is  snug  with  now,"  said  the  free  negro. 

"I  reckon,"  said  the  fugitive,  "it's  you  dat  do 'nt 
know'd  um.  He — I  heard  him  say  so  wid  his  own 
lips — thinks  more  of  me  an'  my  Dinah,  than  all." 

"All  what?" 

"  All  de  col  or  'd  folks  in  dis  town." 

"Fiddle-de-dee." 

"I  know'd  what  I  talk  'bout,  capt'in." 

"Why,  man,  he  steals  —  L  guess,  robs  —  when  good 
chance  offers.  He  is  most  notorious.  Too  lazy  to 
work.  If  he  had  n't  been,  he  would  never  run  away 
from  Tennessee,"  said  the  free  negro. 

Tom  thought  that  was  a  personal  reflection  ;  and  if 
he  had  not  been  afraid  of  the  free  negro,  would  have 
demonstrated  it.  As  it  was,  he  shrugged  his  shoulders ; 


455 

and  held  his  tongue.  The  captain,  as  he  called  him, 
seated  himself  in  the  stern  of  the  boat,  preparatory  to 
leaving  the  anchorage. 

O  O 

"Now,  see  if  you  can  hoist  the  sail,"  said  he. 

The  fugitive  was  as  ignorant  as  the  man  o'  the  woods, 
how  to  go  to  work  to  execute  the  order.  He  attempted 
to  raise  it  two  or  three  times,  but  without  success. 

"Dunno,  capt'in.  Too  big  craft  for  dis  nigger,"  he 
replied. 

"  Pull  on  the  rope.  She  will  come  to  the  mast," 
said  the  free  negro,  with  a  harsh,  commanding  voice. 

Torn  made  an  effort,  but  was  unsuccessful.  He  gave 
it  up. 

"  Dunno,  captin',.     Do  n't  fetch  um,"  said  he. 

"What  a  fool!  Do  n't  know  'nough  to  raise  even  a 
sail.  Try  um  agin,  you  ninny  ! "  said  the  free  negro. 

Tom  made  another  effort,  and  was  more  successful, 
and  they  set  sail  directly  across  the  mouth  of  the  river, 
and  landed  at  Fort  Erie. 

"  Step  ashore,"  said  the  free  negro,  "and  haul  her 
on  the  sand,  and  make  her  fast.  We  will  try  our  luck 
with  the  line  here." 

"  Whar  we  cum  to,  captin'?  "  asked  Tom. 

"You  don't  know,  do  you?  Don't  it  look  like 
Canady,  you  fool?  " 

Tom  looked  around,  after  he  stepped  upon  the  beach, 
but  as  this  was  his  first  visit  to  that  particular  spot,  he 
could  not  tell  whether  he  was  in  the  land  of  freedom 
or  not. 

"  Dunno,  captin'.  Do  n't  look  much  like  Saint 
Davids,"  said  the  fugitive. 


456  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

"Pshaw!     Is  that  the  only  place  in  this  country?" 

"What  do  you  call  it?" 

"Fort  Erie.  The  place  where  they  fought  in  the 
war.  Do  n't  you  see  the  stone  over  there  2  " 

"S'pectnot." 

"  Look  sharp." 

"  Can't  catch  urn,  capt'in ;  too  dark," 

"Getting  blind,  hey?"  said  the  free  negro,  sncer- 
ingly. 

"In  the  night  time,  when  there  is  no  moon,  capt'in. 
An't  you  puzzled,  also?"  asked  Tom,  going  up  to  the 
road  to  get  a  nearer  view  of  the  Fort. 

"Never;  eye-sight  as  good  in  the  dark  as  in  the 

iigbt.» 

"  Oh,  I  sees  a  wall  up  in  de  field.  Dat  's  um,  d'  ye 
Bay?" 

"Nothing  else;  that's  the  place  where  we  fought 
the  British  at  the  point  of  the  bayonet.  How  do  you 
like  the  looks  of  it  ? "  asked  the  free  negro,  at  the  same 
time  shoving  the  prow  of  the  boat  off  the  sand. 

"  Golly,  dis  nigger  would  lay  close  under  de  wall, 
when  they  shot  their  guns,  you  'd  better  believe." 

"Not  stand  up  and  fight  like  soldier!  Coward ' 
"Well,  that  is  the  way  with  most  folks.  S'pose  you  go 
and  see  how  it  would  seem  to  lay  there  now  ;  good 
place  to  lodge,"  said  the  free  negro,  and  hoisted  the 
sail  again. 

Tom  heard  it  flutter,  and  run  down  from  the  road  to 
the  beach.  The  vessel  had  left  shore,  and  was  slowly 
getting  under  motion ;  it  was  already  in  deep  water. 

"Hullo,   capt'in,  you  ar  n't  guine  to  leave  me,  are 


457 

you?"  yelled  Tom,  as  loud  as  he  could  make  his  voice 
ring. 

"Why  not,  you  booby?  You  are  home,  now,  and 
be  content  to  stay  there — ha!  haw!  haw!"  roared 
the  free  negro. 

"  For  Lor1  sake !  stop,  an'  let  me  get  aboard !  I  shall 
starve  and  die,  if  I  am  left  in  clis  country.  Stop —  do 
stop ! "  again  screamed  the  fugitive.  But  it  was  no 
use.  A  stiff  breeze  sprung  up,  and  the  little  clipper 
scud  swiftly  before  it,  and  run  into  Buffalo  creek  ere 
the  fugitive  hardly  had  time  to  consider  what  to  do. 

"  There,  I  think  I  shall  know  it,  when  I  goes  fishing 
with  sich  critters  agin,"  said  the  free  negro  to  himself, 
as  he  sailed  up  the  creek,  to  take  the  vessel  to  its 
owner. 

"Catch  much,  Jake?"  asked  an  inquisitive  asso 
ciate,  as  he  landed  on  the  dock. 

"  No  ;  did  n't  bite,"  answered  the  free  negro,  gruffly. 

u  Back  too  soon  ;  should  hung  out  longer.  How  far 
did  you  go  — Squaw  Island?" 

"  Don't  be  so  inquisitive.  Do  n't  you  believe  me? 
You  seed  I  have  nothin'.  Mind  your  business.  I  tell 
you  the  fish,  for  some  reason,  would  not  bite.  So 
there,  be  quiet  with  your  nonsense,"  answered  the  free 
negro,  more  gruffly  than  before ;  and  walked  as  fast  as 
he  could,  to  get  out  of  the  way. 

"  How  mighty  snarly  and  cross  you  be,  Jake !  I 
know'd  you  would  n't  catch  nothing,  when  I  see  you 
go  by  the  lighthouse." 

"  Was  you  standing  there?" 

"Yes  I  was  ;  jist  arter  dinner.     I  see  you  go  down 


458  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

to  the  Rock  along  Sandy  town.  I  knew  then,  that  Jim 
Hard  would  get  drunk,  and  joggle  the  boat  so  that  the 
fish  wouldn't  bite  —  I  know'd  it.  If  you  had  invited 
me,  you  would  have  hit  it  square  on  the  head.  Live 
and  learn,  though,  Jake  ;  that  1s  the  way." 

""Well,  if  you  aint  the  most  knowing  darkey  I 
have  seen  to-day,  I  would  n't  say  so.  Xever  mind, 
I  'II  take  you  the  next  time  I  lay  over  a  trip," 
remarked  the  free  negro,  and  hastened  along  to  find 
lodgings. 

Tom  was  at  a  loss  what  course  to  pursue.  He  was 
alone,  in  a  strange  land,  and  did  not  know  to  whom 
he  could  go  for  assistance.  He  was  penniless,  and 
had  not  eaten  anything  since  noon.  He  mused  a 
a  moment  or  two,  and  went  back  to  the  road.  He  saw 
a  light  some  distance  ahead,  and  directed  his  steps 
thither.  It  proceeded  from  a  small  grocery.  The  door 
was  open  and  he  walked  in.  In  the  rear  part  of  the 
room,  he  noticed  a  sort  of  a  bar  with  eatables  and 
drinkables.  He  stepped  up  to  it,  and  begged  for  a 
cracker  or  twist  of  cake.  The  person  who  tended  the 
place  roughly  declined  to  accommodate  him,  and  inti 
mated  that,  if  he  knew  what  was  good  for  himself,  he 
had  better  be  off.  Tom  told  him  his  situation,  and 
how  he  happened  to  be  set  down  there  at  that  time  of 
night.  The  bar-tender  affected  not  to  believe  his  story, 
and  ordered  the  fugitive  to  leave.  Tom  reiterated  his 
destitute  condition,  and  ajjain  begged  for  a  bit  of  bread 

j  ^  c*o 

to  quiet  his  stomach.  ]>ut  his  importunity  was  un 
availing,  and  the  bar-tender,  not  content  with  simply 
ordering  the  fugitive  peremptorily  out  of  doors,  took 


459 

bold  of  his  shirt  collar  and  assisted  him  along  to  the 
door. 

"There,"  said  he,  shoving  the  fugitive  out  of  the 
door,  "now  take  the  road  and  leave;  and  do  n't  you 
let  me  see  you  in  these  parts  agin." 

Tom  hesitated,  for  he  really  did  not  know  which 
way  to  go.  He  felt  more  like  giving  up,  and  if  he 
must  starve,  so  be  it.  The  bar-tender  perceived  that 
he  did  not  evince  much  disposition  to  move  off,  and 
he  stepped  out  of  the  grocery  into  the  road,  and  kicked 
and  pushed  him. 

"  You  go  from  here,  old  chap,"  said  he,  "  I  can  tell 
you ;  so,  there  's  no  use  of  feigning  hunger  or  drunken 
ness.  You  know  what  you  are  about.  This  is  the  last 
place  for  you  to  come  for  plunder;  you  can't  steal 
here,  you  'd  better  believe.  And  if  you  do  n't  make 
yourself  scarce  right  off,  I  will  have  you  taken  up  on 
suspicion.  Now,  mind  your  points,  you  old  codger — 
do  you  hear?" 

Tom  made  some  slight  resistance  to  this  indignity, 
which  aroused  the  ire  of  the  bar-tender. 

"You  won't  move,  hey?  I'll  see  if  you  don't," 
said  he,  and  stepped  back  into  the  grocery  and  got  a 
whip  with  a  raw,  heavy  lash,  and  plied  it  hard  on  the 
fugitive's  body. 

Tom  quailed,  begged  for  mercy,  and  endeavored  to 
get  out  of  its  reach.  The  bar-tender  followed,  and 
kept  plying  the  lash  harder  and  faster. 

" I '11  make  your  old  back  smoke,  you  poacher,  you! 
I  will  cut  the  marks  so  that  you  will  remember  this 
place  for  some  time,"  said  he. 


460  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

"  Oh  !  mass'r,  oil !  you  eenymost  hit  my  heart !  Let 
me  go,  mass'r,  I  beg!  I  beg  you!  Oh!  do  stop!  "  ex 
claimed  the  fugitive,  his  red  flannel  shirt  proving  in 
sufficient  to  staunch  the  blood  now  fast  trickling  down 
the  back  even  to  his  feet,  and  each  repeated  blow  tear 
ing  the  wound  of  the  previous  one,  until  he  felt  as  if 
his  back  was  raw  with  the  deep  cuts  of  the  whip-lash. 

"  Very  well.  Move  along,  and  I  will  stand  still ; 
and  if  you  keep  moving,  the  sooner  will  you  be  beyond 
the  reach  of  my  lash,''  said  the  bar-tender,  keeping 
his  word. 

Tom  gladly  accepted  the  proposition,  and  soon  ceased. 
to  feel  these  inhuman  blows.  lie  felt  that  he  had  not 
amended  his  condition  by  going  into  the  grocery. 
Now,  not  only  hunger  gnawed  at  his  stomach,  but  the 
sensitive,  smarting  pains  of  his  wounds  almost  dis 
tracted  him.  lie  did  not  dare  to  stop  and  sit  down, 
until  he  had  gone  over  the  road  some  distance,  fearing 
that  the  bar  tender  would  again  overtake  him.  Finally 
he  became  so  much  exhausted,  that  he  ventured  to 
stop.  It  was  on  the  brink  of  a  ravine,  and  he  washed 
off  the  blood  from  his  hands,  bathed  his  body  in  the 
water,  and  in  a  short  time  appeared  to  forget  his 
misery.  lie  awoke  by  daybreak,  and  was  too  feverish 
to  be  hungry.  He  felt  more  like  crawling  than  walk 
ing.  His  back  pained  him,  for  the  wounds  of  the  lash 
were  much  inflamed.  He  looked  around,  and  his  mind 
was  so  much  bewildered  that  he  had  no  distinct  recol 
lection  of  how  he  happened  to  be  there.  After  much 
exertion,  he  made  out  to  ascend  a  small  hill  in  the 
road  ;  and  the  fresh  morning  breeze  fanned  his  temples 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.       «  461 

and  cooled  his  brain.  He  began  to  be  more  sane,  and 
remembered  the  scene  at  the  grocery.  He  was  near 
the  bank  of  the  river,  and  could  plainly  discern  objects 
upon  the  other  side  of  it.  He  was  conscious  that  he 
traveled  that  road  before,  when  he  went  from  Saint 
Davids  to  Buffalo.  In  fact,  he  was  a  short  distance 
below  "Waterloo.  Xot  far  ahead,  there  was  a  farm 
house,  and  he  thought  he  would  make  an  effort  to 
reach  it.  He  did  so;  and  as  he  entered  the  yard,  the 
owner  met  him. 

"What  do  you  want?"  said  he,  perceiving  that  the 
negro's  pantaloons  were  stained  with  blood. 

"Rest,  an'  somethin'  to  eat,  mass'r,"  replied  the 
fugitive. 

"  You  are  a  hard  character,  I  'm  afraid,"  said  the 
farmer. 

"Lor' bless  you!  mass'r,  no.  Take  me  in,  please 
mass'r?" 

"But  where  do  you  come  from.?  and  what  means 
that  blood  ? "  said  the  farmer,  pointing  to  the  pantaloons. 

Torn  briefly  explained,  and  the  farmer  consented  to 
let  him  walk  around  to  the  kitchen. 

"  Mrs.  Sharp,  here  is  a  colored  person  in  need,"  said 
the  farmer  to  his  wife. 

"  Bless  me !  you  look  as  though  you  come  from  a 
slaughter  yard !  Whom  have  you  been  fighting?" 
inquired  Mrs.  Sharp. 

"Nobody,  missus.  Man  'bove  here  flogged  me," 
Baid  Tom. 

"  Flogged  you  ?  What  mischief  you  done  ? "  she  asked. 

Tom  explained  to  her. 
20 


462  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OK 

"  I  leave  him  to  you,  Mrs.  Sharp ;  I  must  go  to 
work.  He  says  he  was  once  a  slave,5'  said  Mr.  Sharp ; 
and  went  about  his  business. 

Mrs.  Sharp  gave  the  fugitive  some  victuals,  and 
heard  him  tell  the  story  of  his  escape,  and  how  he  had 
lived  since.  It  bore  the  impress  of  truth,  and  she 
believed  it. 

"  You  say  your  master  is  in  Buffalo  now  ? " 

"  Yas,  missus ;  an'  goes  to  de  Falls  to-day." 

"It  is  lucky,  after  all,  I  think,  that  the  captain  set 
you  off  on  this  side.  Your  master  is  after  you  ;  depend 
on  't." 

"Dinah's  'long,  too,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"  Dinah  !     Who  is  Dinah  ? "  asked  Mrs.  Sharp, 

"  My  wife." 

"Your  wife! " 

"Yas." 

"Well,  that  is  the  luckiest  of  all.  When  she  gets 
to  the  Falls,  you  must  contrive  some  way  to  get  her 
on  to  this  side." 

"Yas,  missus.  If  I  know'd  how,  clis  nigger  will  do 
it,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"  Oh  !  easy  'nough.  "Well,  wash  up,  and  I  will  give 
you  another  shirt  and  pantaloons  to  put  on  ;  those  are 
stiff  with  blood,  and  soiled,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp. 

"  Oh !  how  my  back  pains  me ! "  exclaimed  the 
fugitive. 

"Yes;  well,  I  '11  bathe  it  in  some  oil;  that  will 
relieve  the  pain,  I  guess,  and  you  will  soon  feel  better," 
remarked  Mrs.  Sharp;  and  stepped  to  the  cupboard 
for  the  bottle. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  463 

"  Easy,  missus,  easy  !  it  smarts  awfully !  "  exclaimed 
the  fugitive,  as  she  poured  a  portion  of  the  contents 
of  the  bottle  upon  his  wounds. 

"Never  mind  ;  it  will  soon  be  over." 

"Do  you  knows  missus  Brown? " 

"  Mrs.  Brown  !  she  that  lives  at  Saint  Davids  ?  " 

"Yas,  missus." 

"  If  I  do  n't,  I  can't  say  I  know  myself,"  said  Mrs. 
Sharp. 

"I  wish  I  neber  left  her,  if  she  war  so  cross.  I 
alwars  had  'nough  to  eat.  I  thought  of  it  dis  morning." 

"  Did  you  ever  live  with  that  lady  ?  " 

"  Yas,  missus.  I  know'd  her  wrell,"  replied  the 
fugitive ;  and  explained  the  particulars. 

"Now,  Tom,  as  soon  as  you  get  possession  of  Dinah, 
do  you  take  her  to  Mrs.  Brown.  It  won't  do  to  stay 
so  near  the  line ;  they  may  kidknap  you.  Will  you 
promise  me  to  do  this  ? " 

"  Yas,  missus." 

"And,  be  particular  and  lay  your  plans  well." 

"  Yas,  missus ;  neber  fear  dat." 

"  I  'm  afraid  you  will  not  be  equal  to  the  emergency. 
I  rather  guess  my  husband  had  better  help;  yes,  I 
am  sure  of  it.  Sharp  must  go  this  very  night." 

"  Will  he  ?  I  'in  so  glad,"  said  the  fugitive,  thank 
ful  that  he  still  had  friends. 

"Will  he,  do  you  ask?" 

"  Yas,  missus." 

"  Of  course  he  will,  if  I  say  so.  I  '11  call  him.  No, 
I  won't.  Let  him  stay  till  noon ;  there  will  be  time 
enough,  then." 


464  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OB 

"Plenty,  missus,"  said  the  fugitive,  delighted  that 
he  was  to  have  the  farmer's  aid  in  rescuing  Dinah. 

"  Make  yourself  contented,  Tom,  till  Mr.  Sharp 
comes  in,  and  then  we  will  arrange  what 's  to  be  done," 
said  Mr.  Sharp. 

The  fugitive  felt  at  home  at  this  form-house,  and 
soon  went  into  the  yard-,  and  laid  down  on  the  grass 
and  rested  himself. 

The  farmer  came  up  from  the  field  at  twelve  o'clock. 
He  was  as  punctual  as  the  pointer.  He  noticed  the 
negro,  who  was  yet  lying  in  the  yard.  The  sun  had 
got  around  on  that  side  of  the  house,  and  shone  full 
in  the  face  of  the  fugitive ;  but  this  circumstance  did 
not  appear  to  make  any  difference  with  him.  He  lay 
as  contented  as  before,  and  was  sound  asleep. 

"What  did  you  make  out  of  the  negro,  Mrs.  Sharp? " 
said  the  farmer,  as  he  entered  the  house. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Sharp,  it  is  very  lucky,  I  think,  that  he 
happened  to  give  us  a  call,"  said  she. 

"Ah!" 

"  Yes.  He  wants  help,  and  there  never  was  a  better 
opportunity  for  philanthropy  ?  " 

"  Another  colored  beggar,  hey  !  "When  will  they 
stop  coming  ?  I  wish  some  one  would  tell  me  that," 
remarked  Mr.  Sharp,  with  ill  temper. 

"There  it  is  agin.  You  always  think  they  want 
money.  Mebbe  they  do  sometimes ;  that 's  not  the 
case  with  Tom,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  with  a  firm  emphasis. 

"  What  does  that  chap  want  ? "  he  inquired. 

"To  rescue  his  wife,  whom  he  has  not  lived  with, 
now  going  on  some  four  years,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp. 


4:65 

"  Where  is  the  woman  ? " 

"  She  will  be  at  the  Falls  to-night." 

"  How  long  to  remain  there  ? " 

"  That 's  doubtful ;  and  therefore  it  is  important  to 
act  promptly;  and,  Mr.  Sharp,  you  must  go  down  this 
afternoon,  and  help  Tom  plan  how  to  do  it,"  said  Mrs. 
Sharp. 

"Bless  me!" 

"Yes,  this  afternoon." 

"  And  what  is  to  be  done  with  the  hay,  in  the  mean 
time  ?  There  are  loads  cured  enough  to  haul  into  the 
barn." 

"2s"o  matter  for  that;  the  boys  will  take  care  of  it. 
And  no  matter,  if  they  do  n't ;  it  won't  spoil,"  said 
she. 

"  Why,  Mrs.  Sharp,  are  you  in  earnest? " 

"  To  be  sure  I  am.     Why  not,  pray  ?  " 

"  You  really  want  me  to  turn  nigger-catcher !  " 

"  Oh !  pshaw  !  K"o  nigger  catching  about  about  it," 
said  Mrs.  Sharp,  twisting  her  neck  and  shaking  her 
head ;  "  only  helping  Tom  in  an  emergency ;  that 's 
all.  Astonishing  you  are  so  obstinate  and  hard-hearted, 
Mr.  Sharp.  S'pose  it  was  me,  and  Tom  helped  you, 
would  you  not  feel  it  to  be  right  ?  Just  consider." 

"  O,  there  is  no  use  of  murmuring.  I  am  in  for 
whatever  of  this  kind  comes  along,  I  expect.  But,  if 
the  hay  spoils,  you  must  charge  it  to  charity,  Mrs. 
Sharp ;  do  n't  complain  to  me.  I  s'pose  it  will  rain 
this  afternoon." 

"Always  borrowing  trouble.  I  never  did  see  the 
like!"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  in  a  blunt  tone. 


466  LIFE   AT  THE   SOUTH;    OK 

"Well,  when  are  Tom  and  myself  to  start?  "  asked 
Mr.  Sharp,  with  more  resignation  of  spirit. 

"  We  think  right  after  dinner.  You  will  have  to 
take  the  old  mare,  and  she  is  not  a  very  fast  traveler, 
yon  know,"  said  Mrs.  Sharp,  in  a  subdued  tone,  and 
with  more  complacency. 

"True;  well  thought  of.  I'll  go  and  get  her  up. 
They  turned  her,  this  morning,  into  the  lower  mea 
dow,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

" ]STo,  no.  Let  our  hired  man  do  that;  here  he 
comes.  You  must  shave  and  put  on  a  clean  shirt,  just 
as  soon  as  you  can  swallow  your  dinner.  The  more  I 
think  of  this,  the  greater  do  I  feel  its  importance,'"  said 
Mrs.  Sharp. 

"  Very  good.  I  s'pose  Tom  can  eat  after  I  get 
through,  can't  he?"  inquired  Mr.  Sharp. 

"  Certainly;  I  'venot  got  quite  as  far  as  that  yet.  I 
guess  the  niggers  can  eat  by  themselves,"  said  Mrs. 
Sharp,  vexed  with  her  husband  for  making  so  silly  a 
remark. 

"  I  am  glad  to  hear  you  express  yourself  so.  I  've 
been  afraid,  for  some  time,  that  I  should  have  to  go 
that  too,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  and  drew  a  chair  up  to 
the  table. 

The  farmer  felt  a  reluctance  to  embark  in  the  enter 
prise  ;  but  his  wife  urged  him  so  hard,  that  he  con 
cluded  to  comply  with  her  wish;  and  shortly  after 
dinner,  he  took  Tom  into  his  buggy  and  started  for 
the  Falls.  The  negro  had  no  idea  how  lie  could  get 
possession  of  Dinah,  and  for  a  very  good  reason  — 
he  had  not  contemplated  a  rescue  at  Niagara,  until 


467 

Mrs.  Sharp  made  the  suggestion.  He  had  not  even 
entertained  the  thought  of  following  her  there.  It  was 
by  chance  purely,  that  Jake,  the  free  negro,  took  him 
across  the  river,  and  it  was  an  accident  merely  that  he 
wandered  into  the  farmer's  yard. 

But  Mr.  Sharp  was  a  man  of  method,  as  well  as 
business ;  and  if  he  had  an  enterprise  afoot,  it  would 
have  been  unnatural,  if  he  did  not  at  once  settle  in  his 
mind  the  details.  Hence,  they  were  not  two  miles  on 
the  way  before  he  desired  to  know  how  the  rescue  was 
to  be  effected.  The  fugitive's  views  were  vague,  and 
wide  of  practical  utility.  He  had  never  been  on  the 
American  side  at  the  Falls,  knew  no  person  there, 
and  could  not  with  any  positiveness  say  whether  the 
party  would  stop  over  even  one  train  of  cars.  It  was 
all  conjecture,  and  quite  unsatisfactory  to  a  man  con 
stituted  like  Mr.  Sharp. 

"  Astonishing,"  said  he,  "  that  Mrs.  Sharp  should 
consent  to  send  me  on  a  wild  goose  chase.  It  will  all 
end  in  smoke,  and  I  shall  be  the  butt  of  my  neigh 
bors.  I  'm  good  mind,  Tom,  to  turn  'round,  and  head 
the  old  mare  for  home." 

"  Try  um,  mass'r,  little  longer ;  when  we  get  nearer 
the  place,  we  can  tell  better.  Dis  nigger  has  notion 
dat  it  will  come  right  in  the  eend." 

"  We  are  on  a  torn-fool's  errand  ;  nothing  will  come 
out  of  it,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  becoming  more  and  more 
dissatisfied. 

"  Your  ole  woman  knows  best.  Please  try  um, 
mass'r,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"  Well   we  will  go  as  far  as  Chippewa.     We  want 


468 

some  salt  for  the  mow,"  replied  Mr.  Sharp,  ahrf 
"whipped  up,"  so  as  to  get  home  by  the  edge  of 
evening. 

The  fugitive  thought  a  ricle  as  far  as  that  was  a 
point  gained,  as  it  respected  himself,  and  offered  no 
objection.  The  farmer  dismissed  the  subject  of  run 
ning  Dinah  into  Canada  from  his  mind,  and  enter 
tained  himself  with  asking  Tom  a  variety  of  questions 
concerning  the  life  of  the  slaves  at  the  South,  until 
they  turned  from  the  river  to  go  to  the  village  of 
Chippewa. 

"Now,  Tom,  I  shall  go  no  farther;  and  you  can 
return  or  not,  as  you  please,"  said  he. 

"  Thank  'ee,  mass-r,  for  the  ride,  but  I  believe  I  will 
stay,"  replied  the  fugitive,  and  they  rode  up  to  a  store, 
and  separated. 

The  planter  and  family,  according  to  their  intention, 
as  expressed  by  Mary  to  her  servant  Dinah,  left  Buf 
falo  for  Niagara  Falls.  Upon  their  arrival  at  the 
American  side,  Mr.  Erskine  was  solicited  to  take  rooms 
at  the  Clifton  House.  Frederick  suggested  that  the 
hotel  might  be  an  objectionable  place  for  them  to  stop 
at,  as  it  was  in  Canada.  The  two  slaves  might  be  dis 
posed  to  avail  themselves  of  the  occasion  to  declare 
themselves  free  from  servitude,  and  decline  returning 
to  the  states.  The  suggestion  did  not  appear  to  make 
any  impression  upon  the  mind  of  his  father ;  and  as 
the  planter  proposed  to  remain  a  few  days,  and  enter 
taining  the  idea  that  he  should  enjoy  himself  more  on 
the  opposite  side  of  the  river,  the  party  hurried  down 
to  the  ferry,  and  crossed  over  to  the  Clifton  House. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  is.  469 

Satisfied  with  the  accommodations,  and  delighted  with 
the  magnificent  view  of  the  greatest  curiosity  in  the 
vast  wonder-work  of  creation,  neither  the  planter  nor 
his  family  regretted  that  they  took  lodgings  there. 
They  passed  the  afternoon  in  viewing  the  cataract. 
The  depth  of  the  gulf,  and  the  immense  volume  of 
water  unceasingly  pouring  over  the  precipice,  with  its 
continued  and  solemn  roar,  filled  them  with  profound 
awe  and  astonishment.  As  much  as  they  had  heard 
it  described,  and  notwithstanding  the  high  anticipa 
tions  which  they  had  formed  of  its  sublimity,  their 
views  did  not  equal  the  reality,  and  were  agreeably 
disappointed.  Language  was  inadequate  to  express 
their  admiration,  and  for  hours  they  surveyed  the  scene 
in  silence. 

The  two  slaves  were  confounded.  They  had  no  con 
ception  of  what  they  were  to  see,  and  were  horror-struck. 
Prone  to  superstition  naturally,  they  were  the  easier 
excited  in  that  direction.  They  were  shy  of  the  abyss 
below  them,  and  thought  it  was  indeed  bottomless.  It 
required  much  persuasion  on  the  part  of  Mary,  to  in 
duce  Dinah  to  accompany  her  down  the  road  to  the 
wrater.  The  slave  would  stop  every  now  and  then,  and 
ask  permission  to  turn  around. 

"Missus  —  head  am  dizzy.  I  shall  fall  —  I  know  I 
shall !  I  feel  when  I  start,  as  if  I  war  guine  to  fall 
down,"  said  the  slave,  sitting  down,  and  seizing  hold 
of  a  bush. 

"  Fie !  Do  n't  be  alarmed,  Dinah.  No  danger  here. 
"We  are  in  the  road.  You  can't  fall.  Come  along," 

replied  Mary,  amused  at  the  fears  of  the  slave. 
20* 


470  LIFE   AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OB 

"  Oh!  how  the  noise  stuns  me!  I  can't  hear  myself 
think,"  said  the  slave,  rising  up. 

"  Never  fear,  Dinah.  The  noise  won't  do  us  any 
harm.  See  Pompey!  He's  not  afraid,"  said  Mary, 
pointing  to  him,  as  he  stood  upon  the  very  brink  of  the 
bank  above  them. 

"He  will  surely  fall,  he  will,"  said  Dinah. 

"Now  look  and  see  if  he  does.  There,  d'ye  see? 
all  safe.  He  got  what  he  reached  for,  and  is  now 
handing  it  to  Frederick,"  said  Mary,  as  Pompey  broke 
off  a  birchen  twig. 

"  You  would  n't  catch  me  doin'  dat !  It 's  much  as 
I  can  do  to  hold  my  foothold  here.  JSTo,  no,  missus," 
said  Dinah 

"Well,  come  along;  don't  be  afraid.  We  shall 
soon  be  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,"  said  Mary. 

"  What  we  gwine  down  dar'  arter,  missus  ? "  asked 
Dinah,  as  she  slowly  and  carefully  followed. 

"Nothing." 

"]STomn." 

"  Why,  bless  you,  for  amusement.  We  can  see  how 
the  cataract  sounds  clown  there.  We  did  not  stop  long 
when  we  crossed  the  ferry.  I  think  the  roar  is  differ 
ent  at  the  bottom  of  the  fall,"  replied  Mary,  trying  to 
calm  Dinah's  fears. 

"  I  seed  all  I  wanted." 

"We  can  look  up,  and  see  the  waterfall  almost  over 
our  heads.  It  will  be  grand.  There,  stop  and  look 
now,"  said  Mary,  sitting  upon  a  log  by  the  way-side. 

"  Ko,  missus." 

"  Well,  I  'm  ashamed  of  you,  Dinah.     What  are  you 


TT2SCLE  TOMS  CABIN  AS  IT  IS. 

holding  your  hands  tip  to  your  ears  for  ? "  inquired 
Mary. 

"To  keep  um  out,  missus." 

"  "What !  the  sound  ?  Is  that  it,  or  are  you  afraid  to 
look  ?  Pshaw  !  how  foolish ! ' ' 

"  Can't  do  it ! "  exclaimed  the  awe-stricken  slave. 

"  What  can't  you  do  ? "  asked  Mary. 

"I  'm  afeard  de  debil  libs  up  dar',  an'  he  will  soon 
jump  down  upon  us,"  said  Dinah,  with  a  strange 
wildness  in  her  manner. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  what  an  idea!  Why,  Dinah,  do  you 
really  think  what  you  say  ?  " 

"  Do  n't  I,  missus?  Mas'r  Bates  said,  dat  God  built 
his  cabin  way  up  in  the  clouds,  but  de  ole  debil  lived 
in  a  frightful  place,  wid  a  deep,  mighty  big,  deep  hole 
under  him,  whar'  he  sent  his  slaves.  I  know'd  as  well 
as  I  want  to  know,  he  is  up  dar',"  insisted  the  bewil 
dered  slave. 

"  Pooh !  pooh !  your  mind  is  full  of  hobgoblins. 
I  imagine  that  the  evil  one  you  speak  of,  is  n't  good 
enough  to  be  the  spirit  of  this  place.  Why,  Dinah, 
this  is  one  of  the  exhibitions  of  God's  goodness  and 
power  —  it 's  his  own  handiwork!  "  said  Mary,  in  pity 
of  the  slave's  ignorance. 

Mary  had  not  stayed  half  as  long  as  she  desired,  but 
the  slave  appeared  to  be  so  much  alarmed,  she  thought 
it  would  be  cruel  to  keep  her  there  longer. 

When  they  reached  the  piazza  of  the  hotel,  Mary,  to 
shame  the  slave,  repeated  what  she  said,  and  asked 
Pompey  if  he  did  not  think  it  was  ridiculous. 

•'  Can't  tell  as  to  dat,  but  dis  nigger  ain't  afeerd  of 


472  LIFE    AT    THE   SOUTH  ;    OR 

noffin.  I  do  n't  think  much  of  mas'r  Bates'  talk.  Di 
nah  knows  clat,"  replied  Pompey,  at  the  same  time 
indulging  himself  in  a  loud  laugh  at  her  expense. 

"You  will  go  down  the  hill,  won't  you,  Pompey?" 
asked  Mary. 

"  To  be  sure,  an'  eeny  wliar'  else  you  order," 
said  he. 

"You  shall  accompany  brother  and  myself  as  we 
stroll,  this  evening,"  said  Mary. 

Dinah's  feelings  were  hurt  at  this  slight,  and  without 
saying  any  thing,  she  walked  through  the  hall  to  the 
rear  of  the  hotel.  Mary  regretted  that  she  had  injured 
her  feelings  without  any  good  reason,  and  the  plan 
ter  felt  that  the  comments  of  his  daughter  were  un 
called  for. 

"  Pompey,  you  go  and  pacify  her,"  said  he. 

"  Yes,  do,  and  tell  her  that  I  want  to  see  her,"  said 
Mary. 

The  slave  at  once  complied  with  his  master's  request, 
for  it  was  made  more  in  that  spirit  than  in  a  tone  of 
command. 

"As  sure  as  I  live,"  said  Tom  to  Mr.  Sharp — who 
finally  concluded  he  would  not  return  home  from  Chip- 
pewra,  but  come  directly  with  Tom  to  the  Falls  • —  "  Dar' 
she  am  !  It  is — it  is  my  wife  Dinah,  in  the  land  of 
freedom  ! " 

They  stopped,  and  "put  up"  the  horse  at  a  tavern 
near  by  the  Clifton  House  ;  and  then  proceeded  toward 
the  cataract,  with  the  intention  of  crossing  to  the  other 
side,  if  they  saw  nothing  of  the  party.  Mr.  Sharp  did 
not  expect  to  find  the  planter  on  the  Canada  side,  and 


473 

as  Dinah  stood  with  her  back  toward  them,  he  sus 
pected  that  Tom  was  mistaken. 

"  I  know'd  her  in  darkest  night.  It 's  her,"  reiter 
ated  the  fugitive,  and  went  toward  her. 

"  Now,  gently,  Tom.  If  you  are  right,  I  do  n't  see 
but  that  the  job  is  done.  Our  care  must  be  to  git  her 
out  of  sight  of  the  planter.  Then  he  will  not  be  able 
to  rescue  her,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"  Oh,  I  see  her  plainly.  It  am  a  fact.  Dinah  has 
got  to  Canada.  Yes,  an'  clar  comes  ole  Pompey — 
sure  —  no  misjtake,"  said  the  fugitive,  and  took  his 
steps  faster. 

"  Tom,  see  here.  "We  must  stop  where  we  are,  till 
after  dusk.  We  shall  be  discovered,  if  we  are  not 
careful,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Neber  fear,  mass'r;  they  can't  take  me  now." 

"But,  man,  they  may  take  Dinah  back,  in  spite 
of  us.  We  must  walk  circumspect.  Now,  take  my 
advice;  will  you?" 

"  Let  me  hear  what  you  say,  mass'r,"  replied  the 
fugitive,  his  eyes  intent  upon  Dinah,  who  seemed  to 
be  talking  to  Pompey. 

"Why,  we  will  loiter  about  this  show  house  here, 
till  it's  too  dark  to  see;  and  then  we  will  reconnoitre 
the  hotel.  This  is  the  way  to  make  sure,"  replied  Mr. 
Sharp. 

"Berry  good,  master;  I  'm  content  to  that,  long  as 
I  see  her,"  said  the  fugitive;  and  they  entered  an  in- 
closure  which  contained  some  curiosities.  Mr.  Sharp 
gave  the  proprietor  a  few  pennies,  and  listened  to  his 
garrulity. 


4:74:  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 


CIIAPTEE  XXXII. 

THE    INTERVIEW    BETWEEN    MASTER    AXD    SLAVE. 

In  the  evening  of  the  day  on  which  the  planter 
arrived  at  the  Falls,  Mary  and  her  brother,  Frederick, 
followed  by  the  faithful  Fompey,  strolled  some  distance 
below  the  hotel,  to  view  the  wonders  of  the  place  by 
moonlight. 

It  was  an  evening  of  beauty.  It  would  have  com 
manded  homage  and  admiration  in  any  place;  but 
there,  with  the  beams  of  the  moon  resting  upon  those 
silvery  waters,  as  they  appeared  upon  the  brink  of  the 
stupendous  precipice,  to  plunge  into  the  deep  gulf 
below ;  that  spray  continually  rising,  from  the  violent 
and  unceasing  commingling  of  the  immense  streams 
of  water,  as  they  poured  from  the  three  points  of  the 
compass,  and  converging  and  dashing  recklessly  to 
gether,  with  such  gigantic  power  as  almost  to  make 
the  earth  itself  tremble,  in  acknowledgement  of  the 
Almighty ;  that  bow  of  promise  vouchsafed  so  many 
centuries  ago,  and  the  covenant,  of  which  it  is  a  token, 
so  sacredly  kept,  Mary  and  Frederick  viewed  with  the 


475 

most  pleasing  sensations  of  delight.  They  sat  down 
upon  the  ground,  and  looked,  and  admired.  The  mind 
of  each  was  busy  with  thought,  as  it  contemplated 
the  inspiring  and  boundless  therne.  The  mere  falling 
of  the  water,  and  its  great  volume — the  distance  to 
which  it  descended  —  the  eternal  roar  of  the  cataract  — 
the  splendid  rainbow,  arching  the  frightful  whirlpool — • 
all,  in  turn,  had  excited  their  wonder  and  admiration. 
But  now  there  was  something  —  they  knew  not  what  — 
which  enchained  their  attention,  and  enchanted  their 
imagination. 

"  Mary,"  said  Frederick,  finally,  "come  ;  I  am  tired 
with  looking.  Let  us  go  back  and  enjoy  the  music 
and  hop." 

"Tired,  did  you  say?  I  should  never  tire  of  this," 
replied  Mary. 

"  It  is  the  only  thing,  I  reckon,  which  you  would  n't 
tire  of,"  said  her  brother,  playfully. 

"No,  Frederick,  you  are  mistaken  in  that  notion," 
replied  Mary,  taking  no  exceptions  to  the  jesting 
remark  of  her  brother;  "there  is  at  least  one  other 
thing,  you  may  be  certain." 

"  Pray,  name  it,  Mary." 

"The  ocean.  I  never  got  tired  of  that,  the  summer 
I  visited  the  sea  shore,"  she  replied. 

"Niagara  and  the  Ocean !  Well,  I  will  intercede 
with  father,  to  wed  you  to  one  or  the  other.  So,  come; 
I  would  like  to  have  a  short  hop,"  said  Frederick. 

They  looked  around  for  Pompey,  but  seeing  him. 
nowhere,  supposed  he  had  tired  of  the  scenery  sooner 
than  themselves,  and  returned.  They  thought  no  more 


476  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  ;    OR 

of  him,  and  entering  the  parlor  of  the  hotel,  partici 
pated  in  the  dance.  The  planter  was  there,  looking 
on,  and  enjoying  himself  with  the  amusement.  He 
had  made  the  acquaintance  of  some  of  the  guests,  and, 
happy  in  conversation,  felt  himself  quite  at  home.  He 
received  all  the  attention  he  desired,  from  the  domes 
tics  of  the  house,  and  seemed  to  forget  that  he  had 
any  of  his  own.  Having  no  occasion  for  the  services 
of  Pompey  or  Dinah,  he  had  not  seen  them  since  tea. 
After  wearying  himself  with  the  pleasures  of  the  pub 
lic  room,  he  retired  to  his  apartments,  more  gratified 
than  ever  that  he  yielded  to  Mary's  solicitation,  and 
determined  to  pass  the  summer  at  the  Xorth. 

While  the  planter  and  his  children  were  thus  enjoy 
ing  themselves,  quite  a  different  scene  was  performed 
outside. 

We  left  Mr.  Sharp  and  the  fugitive  listening  to  the 
wonderful  talk  of  the  showman.  As  the  moon  made 
the  evening  so  light,  they  remained  inside  the  inclosure 
longer  than  they  intended  or  then  desired.  Finally, 
the  fugitive  became  so  impatient  that  Mr.  Sharp  con 
sented  to  go  out  and  see  what  could  be  done. 

They  went  near  the  hotel,  but  were  unable  to  get  a 
sight  of  Dinah.  Hearing  music,  they  went  around  in 
front,  and  Mr.  Sharp  went  on  to  the  piazza.  He  could 
not  get  a  sight  of  either  the  planter,  or  children,  or 
servants,  and  returned  to  the  fugitive. 

"They  have  gone  across  to  the  other  side,  Tom,  I 
guess ;  I  can  see  nothing  of  them,"  said  he  to  the 
fugitive. 

"Dar'  now,  mass'r,  you  hab  spoil'd  it  all.     It's  all 


[JNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  477 

wrong,  guine  to  see  de  show.  If  I  had  n't  stopped, 
Dinah  now  would  hab  bin  wid  me." 

"Yes,  just  so;  and  instead  of  being  in  Canada, 
enjoying  freedom,  probably  the  master  would  have 
now  had  you  fast." 

"  How  do  you  make  dat  out  ?  " 

"  You  would  been  seen  together,  and  there  are 
plenty  of  people  to  be  hired  to  take  the  job  of  carry 
ing  both  of  you  oft.  There  is  nothing  like  money;  it 
will  move  almost  everything,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"  I  am  sorry,  mass'r  Sharp,  'kase  I  did  n't  go  right 
on,  when  I  seed  her  in  de  yard,"  said  the  fugitive, 
with  a  sis;h,  believing  that  there  was  no  chance  of 

o      /  O 

recovering  his  wife. 

"  Hist !  there  goes  a  couple  of  colored  persons  ;  let  'a 
see  where  they  go.  It  may  be  them.  Who  knows, 
after  all,  but  that  we  are  acting  under  Providence ! " 
said  Mr.  Sharp. 

Tom  looked  in  the  direction  pointed  out  by  his  com 
panion,  and  immediately  exclaimed,  loud  enough  to 
be  heard  by  the  persons  themselves, 

"It's  them!  it's  them,  mass'r  Sharp!  it's  them! 
Dis  nigger  keeps  close  to  um." 

"  Hist !  Tom,  you  will  wake  the  whole  neighbor 
hood,  if  you  don't  talk  lower;  be  quiet,"  said  Mr. 
Sharp. 

They  followed  the  persons  alluded  to;  and  as  they 
approached  them,  the  fugitive  exclaimed  again,  in  a 
louder  voice  than  was  agreeable  to  Mr.  Sharp, 

"Dinah!  Dinah  —  my  wife,  sure!"  arid  almost 
jumped  to  her  side.  He  came  so  suddenly,  Dinah 


478  LIFE    AT    THE    SOOTH  ;    OR 

was  at  first  alarmed ;  for  she  did  not  expect  to  see  her 
husband  there.  "What!  don't  you  know  me?"  he 
said,  in  a  most  plaintive  tone.  They  were  in  the  shade 
of  a  thicket.  Dinah  had  not  forgotten  the  voice,  if 
she  did  start  at  his  sudden  embrace. 

"  Oh  !  Tommy,  Tommy !  —  is  it  you  ?  Who  'd  thought 
that  night  you  left  our  cabin,  we  should  see  each  oder 
so?  "  she  said,  and  hung  her  head  upon  his  bosom. 

Pompey  was  glad  to  take  the  hand  of  his  old  com 
rade,  and  shook  it  heartily.  But  the  fugitive  was  too 
much  taken  up  with  his  wife  to  return  his  friendship, 
arid  made  no  reply  to  Pornpey's  questions. 

"I  seed  how  it  am.  You  consider  yourself  your 
own.  Keber  mind,  Uncle  Tom  ;  dis  nigger  is  honest. 
Tie  don't  run  off,  like  tief,  in  de  dark  night,"  said 
Tompey. 

Mr.  Sharp  disliked  to  see  this  ebullition  of  feeling, 
and  tried  to  pacify  the  excited  slave,  by  reminding 
him  that  the  fugitive's  undivided  attention  to  his  wife 
was  most  natural,  and  any  inattention  to  him,  at  that 
particular  time,  should  be  overlooked. 

"  He  can  be  civil  to  his  ole  frien',  eenyhow.  I 
dunno  you,"  said  Pompey.  In  the  meantime,  the  fugi 
tive  had  gone  aside  a  few  steps,  and  was  in  busy  con 
versation  with  Dinah.  He  did  not  heed  Pompey's 
remark. 

"  Do  n't  interrupt  them,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  laying  his 
hand  gently  on  Pompey's  shoulder,  as  he  was  011  the 
point  of  going  up  to  the  fugitive. 

"Take  dat  oil'  my  body,  an'  let  me  go  'bout  my 
business,"  said  the  latter,  fiercely. 


479 

Mr.  Sharp  was  confounded.  He  did  not  expect  to 
witness  so  much  ill  nature  among  friends,  and  espe 
cially  among  slaves  in  that  particular  locality.  He 
withdrew  his  hand,  for  he  had  no  notion  of  having  a 
fight  at  fisticuffs  with  a  colored  person,  under  those 
circumstances. 

"  Dinah,"  said  Pompey,  "  I  am  guine  back  to  de 
hotel." 

"  Wait  a  minute,  an'  I  '11  go  wid  ye,"  replied 
Dinah. 

"No;  I 've  lost  all  patience  wid  dat  nigger,  if  he 
am  his  own,"  said  Pompey.  The  fugitive  looked  up 
in  wonderment.  He  had  been  so  much  absorbed  in 
his  attention  to  his  wife,  that  he  was  totally  uncon 
scious  of  his  incivility. 

"  Wha'  •  wha'  dat  you  mention,  Pompey  ? "  he 
asked. 

u  I  sez  I  am  not  to  be  insulted  in  dis  manner;  I  '11 
let  you  know  I  am  as  good  as  any  nigger,  eenyhow." 

"  Who  insult  you  ?  mass'r  Sharp ? " 

"Mass'r  Sharp  !  am  dat  the  individual's  name?  " 

"Yas;  he  am  my  frien',  your  frien',  an'  Dinah's. 
Do  n't  I  speak  um  as  it  am  ?"  inquired  the  fugitive. 

"  I  am  the  friend  of  the  colored  race  ;  that  is  to  say, 
the  poor  African  race.  They  all  share  alike  my  sym 
pathy.  I  feel  it  a  duty  to  aid  them,  else  I  should  n't 
be  here.  That  you  know,  from  personal  experience," 
replied  Mr.  Sharp. 

"  Dar,  Pompey,  you  seed  how  it  is.  We  are  friends. 
We  come  to  help  you  and  Dinah,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"  I  want  none  of  your  help  ;  massa  gibs  nie  all  dat, 


480  LIFE  AT  THE  SOUTH  J    OR 

when  I  wants  it,"  replied  Poinpey,  as  independently 
as  if  he  had  paid  for  himself. 

"  Wha'  d'  ye  mean?  I  do  n't  know  what  you  would 
be  arter  ?  " 

"  II av  n't  you  ears? " 

"  Yas  ;  I  heard  you,  Pompey." 

"  Berry  good.  Den,  if  you  heerd  me,  do  n't  ax  me 
why.  Come,  Dinah,  I  'm  guiiie  to  cle  hotel,"  said 
Pompey. 

"  An'  leave  Tommy  so  quick?  "  she  said. 

"No.  He  can  come  along  too,  if  lie  am  not  asham'd 
of  himself.  I  s'pose  he  need  n't  be  afraid  of  niassa 
here.  I  calculate  dis  am  in  ass 'r  Bates'  state  of  free 
dom.  Massa  can't  take  um  now,"  replied  Pompey. 

"  Oh,  yes,  Tommy,  come  along.  Massa,  I  '11  be 
boun',  will  talk  wid  you.  Missus  Mary,  I  know'd  will. 
Come,"  said  Dinah. 

"  That  will  not  do.     !Nb,  no,"  interposed  Mr.  Sharp. 

" If  Pompey  will  not  stay,"  said  the  fugitive,  "let 
him  go,  an'  leave  you  wid  us.  You're  not  afeerd  to 
stay  wid  your  own  Tommy." 

"No,  but  I  must  not  leave  missus,"  she  replied. 

"  Pooh  !  AVha'  care  you  for  her.  You  can  now  be 
free  wid  me.  You  won't  think  of  guine  to  Yirginny, 
I  s'pect,  now,"  said  the  fugitive. 

Mr.  Sharp  reiterated  the  same  remark.  Dinah  was 
Buffering  the  most  intense  agony  of  spirit.  She  could 
not  bear  to  part  so  quick  with  him  she  loved  so  dearly, 
and  mourned  so  long  for  dead.  And  yet  she  did  not 
fail  to  remember  in  her  extremity  the  goodness  of  Mary 
in  allowing  her  to  come  north.  If  it  had  not  been  for 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  481 

that,  she  would  not  even  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
and  knowing  that  he  was  in  the  land  of  the  living. 
This  thought  filled  her  heart  with  thankfulness,  and  in 
spite  of  the  pain  of  parting  again,  she  could  not  think 
of  breaking  the  promise  so  solemnly  made  —  not  to 
give  her  rnassa  any  unnecessary  trouble.  And  yet,  as 
her  husband  would  run  no  risk  of  forfeiting  his  inde 
pendence,  even  if  seen  by  the  planter,  she  could  not 
think  of  allowing  him  to  leave  her  presence  so  quickly, 
and  importuned  him  to  go  to  the  hotel.  He  was 
inclined  to  accede  to  the  request,  and  undoubtedly 
would  have  done  so,  had  not  Mr.  Sharp  stoutly  ob 
jected.  As  it  was,  the  fugitive  promised  to  see  her  in 
the  morningr. 

O 

v  You  won't  miss  to  be  here  arter  breakfast,"  said 
he  to  Dinah. 

"  Depend  on  V 

"  An',  Dinah,  I  hopes  you  will  then  say  yes  to  what 
I  ax  you  —  to  lib  wid  me  here,"  he  repeated. 

"Xeber — neber,  Tommy." 

"  Not  even  if  your  master  consents,"  remarked  Mr. 
Sharp. 

"  Dunno." 

"  Oh,  I  know'd  you  will,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"  An'  leave  our  children  alone  in  Yirginny  ? "  she  said. 

The  fugitive  did  not  make  any  answer.  If  they  bid 
each  other  good  night,  it  was  not  heard. 

In  the  morning  Dinah  kept  her  promise,  but  the 
fugitive  was  at  the  thicket  before  her.  He  meant,  if 
possible,  to  persuade  her  to  go  with  him  into  the  interior 
of  Canada,  and  not  return  to  the  plantation.  Thinking 


482  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH;    OR 

that  the  presence  of  Mr.  Sharp  might  embarrass  her, 
he  came  to  the  thicket  without  him. 

"Now,  Dinah,"  said  he,  as  she  seated  herself  on  a 
log,  "  take  my  advice,  an'  be  no  longer  slave." 

"Tommy,  clere  's  no  use  talking  so." 

"  What !  won't 'you  on  no  account  ? "  he  inquired. 

"No,  no." 

"Tell  me  de  reason." 

"I  do  n't  wish  to  starve!  dat 's  de  reason,"  she 
replied. 

"  Dar'  no  danger." 

"I  know'd  clere  am.  You  hab  already  eenymost 
starved." 

"Who  told  you  dat?" 

"Nelly." 

"Nelly!" 

"Yas,  Nelly." 

" "VVhar'  did  you  see  her  to  talk? "  inquired  the  fugi 
tive,  surprised  to  learn  that  Dinah  and  Nelly  were 
together  long  enough  for  that. 

"Oh,  I  seed  her,  and  she  told  me  all  'bout  it.  I 
shouldn't  s'pose  you  would  want  me  to  run  risk  of 
dying,  too,"  she  replied. 

"But  whar',  Dinah?" 

"In  a  road  in  Buffalo  town.''' 

"  Did  she  speak  of  dat  big  snow  bank,  an'  how  cold 
it  war'  ? " 

"  All,  wid  particulars." 

"Den  dis  nigger  says  noffin.  I  gibs  um  up,"  said 
the  fugitive,  despairing  of  being  able  to  persuade  his 
wife  to  remain. 


±83 

"I  likes  to  hear  dat.  Oil!  I  wish  I  could  hear  you 
say  anoder  thing,"  said  Dinah,  with  much  emotion. 

"Talk  mn,  Dinah  — talk  urn." 

"Oh!  how  I  pray,  night  and  morning,  you  would 
go  home,"  a  tear  dropping  from  her  eyes,  in  spite  of 
her  resolution  to  be  calm. 

"Home!  home!  No,  Dinah.  I  can't  think  of  sich 
thing." 

"Why  not?     You  would  then  get  out  of  misery."" 

"  Mistaken  —  mistaken,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"  You  enjoy 'd  yourself  afore,  if  you  would  only 
think  so." 

"Do  you  s'pose  I  likes  to  be  shut  up  like  de  beast? " 

"  Pshaw  !     Only  once,  and  I  pitied  you." 

"  Massa  now  neber  would  let  me  out,  if  I  went  back." 

"  Would  n't  you  like  to  see  him? "  asked  Dinah. 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  not  to  be  taken." 

"How  's  dat,  when  you  are  free?" 

"  Oh,  I  am  my  own  man  here." 

"  Berry  good.  S'pose  you  go  wid  me  to  the  hotel, 
and  see  missus  Mary  an1  mass'r  Frederick.  Dey  will 
be  glad  to  see  you.  I  know'd  so,  Tommy." 

"  Dinah,  dere  is  design  somewhere.  You  want  um 
to  take  me.  No,  no  ;  I  am  too  old.  You  must  set 
bigger  trap  if  you  s'pect  to  catch  um.  I  shall  not  run 
my  nose  in  wid  eyes  open,"  replied  the  fugitive,  sus 
picious  that  Dinah  was  planning  to  capture  him. 

"  Pshaw ! " 

"  Oh,  but  you  can't  cheat  dis  nigger." 

"What  foolish  man!  Only  jist  to  see  and  talk, 
dat 'ft  all,"  said  Dinah,  trying  to  allay  his  fears. 


484  LIFE   AT   THE   SOUTH  J    OK 

"  No,  I  tell  yon.  No.  I  will  not  trust  myself,"  he 
replied,  with  an  increased  energy,  and  more  determined 
voice. 

"Well,  I  don't  see  what  yon  are  to  fear.  Dis  am 
de  land  of  freedom.  Yon  are  yonr  own  master,  and 
can  come  and  go  as  you  please.  You  need  n't  stay 
half  a  minute.  I  do  n't  care  'bout  you'  guine.  I 
thought  it  would  please  yon  to  see  them.  I  '11  say  no 
more  of  it,"  replied  Dinah,  and  rose  up  from  the  log. 

"  You  are  not  guine  to  leave  me,  Dinah  ? "  asked  the 
fugitive. 

ult  's  time.  Missus  Mary  wants  me  by  this.  She 
is  now  dressing,  I  s'pose.  The  sun  is  high." 

"  Do  n't  you  think  massa  would  force  me  ? "  asked 
the  fugitive,  desiring  to  be  in  his  wife's  company 
longer. 

"  Xeber !  be  glad  to  see  you.  Come ;  I  '11  be 
answerable,"  said  she. 

"  I  'm  most  good  mind  to  try  um,"  he  replied. 

u  Come  along,  Tommy,  I  neber  seed  yon  look  so 
foolish." 

Without  saying  yes  or  no,  the  fugitive  accepted  the 
invitation,  if  rising  and  walking  in  the  same  direction 

?  CD  O 

writh  his  wife  can  be  so  construed.  lie  did  not  move 
with  much  will,  though.  Every  few  steps  he  would 
falter,  and  try  to  engage  her  in  conversation,  but  it 
was  of  no  use.  She  hurried  the  more,  and  gave  him 
no  opportunity  to  talk.  They  soon  reached  the  piazza. 
He  hesitated  to  ascend  the  steps.  But  Dinah  made 
no  stop,  and  immediately  entered  the  wide  hall. 
"  Come  along,  Tommy,"  she  said. 


UNCLE    TOM'S    CABIN    AS    IT    IS.  485 

"  "Whar  you  guirie  to  lead  me?"  lie  whispered. 

"  Oh,  never  mind.  Come  along,  and  trust  me,"  she 
replied. 

The  fugitive  thought  he  might  as  well  go  forward  as 
back.  Dinah  would  tell  them  she  had  seen  him,  and 
they  would  immediately  be  on  the  search.  He  com 
plied  with  her  direction  without  more  ado,  and  wind 
ing  up  several  flights  of  stairs,  found  himself  near  the 
roof  of  the  building. 

"  Dare,"  said  she,  as  they  entered  a  small  room  in  an 
upper  story  called  the  attic,  "you  stay  here  till  I  call 
for  you.  This  am  de  room  I  occupy.  Pompey  's  close 
by.  I  '11  go  and  wait  upon  missus.  I  '11  soon  be  back." 

"  Dinah,  do  n't  you  tell  um  I  'm  here.  If  you  do,  it 
will  be  the  death  of  me,  sartin.  Massa  would  just  as 
lief  as  not  tumble  me  out  o'  the  window,"  said  he. 

"Pshaw!  Tommy  be  quiet  now.  Dinah  will  be 
answerable  for  your  safety.  Neber  fear.  I  havn't 
felt  so  good  sin'  you  left  our  cabin.  Oh !  how  glad  I 
am  missus  took  me,"  said  she,  and  descended  the  stairs 
with  a  heart  lightened  of  a  heavy  load  of  grief. 

Mary  was  astir  earlier  than  usual,  for  the  thunder 
of  the  cataract  awakened  her  long  before  day -break, 
and  she  thought  it  would  be  delightful  to  view  the 
wonder  as  the  morning  sun  first  greeted  the  waters. 
She  was  quite  ready  to  find  Frederick,  when  Dinah 
knocked  at  her  door.  The  slave  was  astonished  to  find 
her  dressed,  and  attempted  to  excuse  the  delay. 

"I  rose  before  my  time — no  blame  to  you.  You 
go  and  see  if  brother  Frederick  is  ready  for  a  walk 

before  breakfast,"  said  Marv. 
21 


486  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

Dinah  obeyed,  and  returned  for  answer,  that  her 
young  master  had  gone  under  the  "  sheet." 

"All!  he  thought  I  would  be  afraid,  and  so  did  not 
invite  me.  Well,  I  believe,  after  all,  I  will  indulge 
myself  with  a  bath.  You  can  go  with  me  to  the  bath 
house,  Dinah,"  said  Mary. 

Whilst  the  slave  was  thus  waiting  upon  her  mistress, 
Pompey  happening  to  look  into  her  room,  in  the  attic, 
to  his  surprise  discovered  the  fugitive 

"Yah!  yah!  yah!  come  home  to  roost,  arter  all, 
tab  you,  Uncle  Tom?  yah!  yah!  yah!  Well,  glad 
to  see  you,"  said  he,  disposed  to  be  merry  over  it. 

"  Hist !  you  wake  up  massa,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"No  matter;  he  would  like  to  see  you.  I  'm  guine 
right  down  to  tell  him." 

"  Now,  Pompey,  I  did  irt  think  dat  of  you." 

"  Why,  Lor'  bless  you  !•  Do  n't  you  want  to  see  ole 
massa  ?  He  was  full  of  fun  last  night.  He  won't  hurt 
you;  don't  be  afeerd,"  said  Pompey,  standing  in  the 
door. 

"Dis  nigger  am  not  ready  to  see  him.  I  must  com 
pose  my  mind." 

:c  No  matter  "bout  dat.  Massa  shall  see  you.  I  'm 
thinking  you  will  run,  so  I  will  jist  turn  the  key  out 
side  ;  den  you  won't  find  it'  difficult  to  compose  your 
mind  till  I  come,"  said  Pompey ;  and  without  further 
ceremony,  locked  the  door,  and  scampered  down  the 
stairs  to  the  planter's  room. 

Mr.  Erskine  was  not  up ;  but  not  troubling  himself 
to  lock  the  door  when  lie  went  to  bed,  Pompey  found 


TTNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  487 

no  difficulty  in  obtaining  admittance.  His  master  was 
awake. 

""Well,  Pompey,  are  you  stirring?  I  reckon  it 
would  do  me  no  hurt  to  walk  in  the  fresh  air,"  re 
marked  the  planter. 

"  Good  news,  massa!  "  exclaimed  the  slave. 

"What  now,  Pompey?" 

"  Seen  Uncle  Tom." 

"You  don't  say  so!  Where,  pray?"  asked  the 
planter. 

"  Here." 

"  In  this  hotel,  do  you  mean?" 

"Yas,  massa;  he's  up  in  Dinah's  room,"  said 
Pompey. 

"  Bless  me  !  I  should  like  to  see  him  myself — just 
to  look  at  him.  Is  he  altered  much?"  asked  the 
planter,  at  once  rising  from  his  bed  and  slipping  on 
his  clothes. 

"  Little  older  —  looks  as  if  he  might  hab  seen  trou 
ble;  gray  hairs  thicker — dat  's  'bout  all,  massa." 

"  Well,  go  up  and  bring  him  down  here.  Tell  him 
I  shall  be  happy  to  shake  his  hand,"  said  the  planter. 

"  I  'in  afeerd,  if  I  do  dat,  he  will  run  away  ;  I  turn'd 
de  key  as  I  came  out  Dinah's  room,"  said  Pompey. 

"  Very  good.  I  will  go  up  myself.  Give  me  my 
slippers,  Pompey,"  said  the  planter ;  and  ascended 
the  stairs. 

Pompey  turned  the  key  to  Dinah's  door,  and  in  they 
walked.  There  sat  the  fugitive  on  the  side  of  the  bed, 
the  perspiration  standing  in  large  drops  on  his  fore 
head,  and  trembling  from  head  to  foot  with  affright.  The 


488  1-I.FK    AT   THE    SOUTH  ;    OK 

planter  extended  his  hand,  and  with  a  pleasant  smile 
upon  his  countenance,  inquired  after  his  health.  The 
fugitive  would  fain  make  answer,  but  the  words  stuck 
in  his  throat. 

"Why,  are  you  sick,  Tom?  You  look  as  though 
you  were  going  into  an  ague  fit.  Can't  you  speak  to 
your  old  master?"  asked  the  planter,  in  a  bland  voice. 

The  fugitive  made  no  answer  at  first ;  but  the  planter 
treated  him  so  kindly,  and  different  from  what  he  anti 
cipated,  that  he  lost  his  fear  in  a  moment  or  two,  and 
felt  more  at  ease. 

"I  thought  you  wouldn't  speak  to  me,  if  you  seed 
me,"  finally  he  said. 

"  Oh !  to  be  sure.  You  lived  too  long  with  me  to 
be  forgotten.  Where  do  you  stay,  Tom  ?  "  asked  the 
planter. 

The  fugitive  was  at  a  loss  what  to  say  in  reply. 

"Are  you  stopping  here  at  the  Falls  ?  " 

"  Ko,  rnass'r." 

u  Where  is  your  home  ?  " 

"  I  can't  say,  mass'r." 

"  Do  you  mean  to  say  you  have  no  home  ? "  said 
the  planter,  beginning  to  take  pity  on  him. 

"  I  hab  lived  in  Buffalo  sometime  back." 

" Hard  times,  Tom—  eh  ?  " 

"  Yas,  mass'r." 

"  Well,  I  am  sorry  to  find  you  in  such  condition. 
But,  I  suppose  you  consider  yourself  free,  and  that 
thought  recompenses  you  for  all  your  trouble  in  obtain 
ing  a  livelihood,"  said  the  planter. 

"  Dunno,  inass'iv' 


\»w. 


4-S9 

""Well,  here  comes  Dinah.  She,  of  course,  is  glad 
to  meet  you.  She  has  almost  cried  her  eyes  out  to  see 
you,  time  and  again." 

"  Oh !  massa,  I  wish  he  would  go  back  to  our  cabin. 
I  told  him  so,"  said  Dinahj  looking  at  her  master 
imploringly. 

"  Yery  good.  He  can  go  if  he  chooses,"  said  the 
planter. 

"Dare,  Tommy;  what  did  I  tell  you?  You  see 
Dinah  am  your  best  friend,  arter  all." 

"Yes,  Tom;  if  you  wish  to  return  to  the  plantation, 
the  way  is  open,"  said  the  planter. 

"Oh!  Tommy,  you  will  go  —  won't  you?"  said 
Dinah. 

The  fugitive  was  dumb ;  he  did  not  know  what  to  say. 

"Why  don't  you  speak,  Tommy?"  asked  Dinah. 

"I  knows,  massa,  why  he  says  noftin,"  remarked 
Pompey. 

"  "Well,  what  is  the  reason?  "  asked  the  planter. 

"lie  's  afeerd  of  punishment ;  dat  's  what  it  is." 

"  He  deserves  it  no  doubt,  for  his  evil  deeds,"  replied 
the  planter. 

"  But,  massa,  won't  you  pardon  him  ? "  beseechingly 
inquired  Dinah. 

"Oh!  yes;  for  your  sake,  if  for  no  other  reason. 
But  upon  this  express  condition,  that  he  acts  right  — 
just  as  Uncle  Tom  did,  year  after  year,  before  Mr. 
Gravity  imprisoned  him  in  the  old  hovel,"  replied  the 
planter. 

"That  I  know  he  will  do,  eenyhow  —  he  will  be  de 
real  Uncle  Tom.  Won't  you?  "  said  Dinah. 


490  LIFE  AT  TIIJ-:  SOUTH;  oii 

"  Durmo.  Your  talk  drives  me  almost  mad,"  re 
marked  the  fugitive,  perplexed  in  his  mind  what 
to  do. 

"  Why,  Torn,  if  that  is  n't  you !  "  exclaimed  Mary, 
rushing  into  the  room  for  Dinah  to  accompany  her  to 
the  "sheet,"  where  Frederick  had  gone;  "where  in 
creation  did  you  come  from?  Why,  father,  it  is  really 
our  Tom!  Well,  I  take  it,  you  are  going  home  with 
with  us.  Where  on  earth  did  you  get  those  ole  pant 
aloons?  How  they  look!  Stand  up,  and  let  us  see 
how  they  do  look  on  you  —  ha!  ha!  ha!  Why,  Tom, 
they  are  a  rod  above  your  ancles  —  ha!  ha!  ha! 
Where  did  you  get  them  ? " 

"  Oh  !  missus,  them  do  n't  fit  at  all.  Poor  man,  he 
has  had  hard  time  of  it.  We  can  brush  him  up, 
mayn't  we,  if  he  only  will  go  home,  missus?"  asked 
Dinah,  ashamed  of  his  appearance. 

"  Certainly ;  father  will  consent,  I  have  no  doubt," 
said  Mary. 

"Yes,  yes;  if  he  will  promise  to  be  good.  Come, 
Pompey,  I  will  go  and  take  a  bath.  You  can  arrange 
with  Tom,  Mary,"  said  the  planter ;  and  left  the  room. 

"Tom,  cheer  up  and  be  sociable.  If  you  can  make 
up  your  mind  to  be  good,  we  will  take  you  home 
again.  What  say  you?  Speak  quick  ;  I  'm  in  a  hurry. 
Well,  you  can  let  Dinah  know,  when  she  comes  in 
from  the  '  sheet.'  It  won't  be  long,"  said  Mary;  and 
she  and  Dinah  left  the  room  also. 

The  scenes  of  the  morning  seemed  to  the  fugitive 
to  be  almost  a  dream.  The  kindness  of  manner  with 
which  his  old  master  had  received  him  —  and  especially 


491 

Mary  —  was  wholly  unexpected.  He  was  very  agree 
ably  disappointed,  and  began  to  entertain  serious 
thoughts  of  accepting  the  invitation  to  return  to  the 
plantation.  He  had  long  since  ceased  to  admire  the 
privileges  of  freedom ;  for,  however  it  might  be  writh 
others,  his  expectations  had  not  been  realized.  When 
the  subject  of  returning  was  first  broached  to  him, 
the  great  and  only  objection,  was  his  dislike  to  en 
counter  the  indignation  of  an  offended  master.  The 
interview  dispelled  all  uneasiness  in  that  respect,  and 
as  he  now  sat  alone  in  the  room,  conning  the  subject 
over  in  his  mind,  he  came  to  the  conclusion  not  to  part 
company  again  with  his  wife. 

"Dinah,"  said  he,  as  she  returned,  almost  out  of 
breath,  from  her  attendance  on  Mary,  "if  you  think 
much  of  me,  you  \vill  stay  here." 

"  Tommy,  dere  's  no  use  of  talking  so,"  she  replied. 

"I  alwars  know'd  you  obstinate,  Dinah." 

•'  You  could  n't  hire  me  to  stay  here,"  said  she. 

"For  noffm?" 

"  Da's  it." 

"You  guine  to  leave  your  poor  Tom  agin?" 

u  How  you  talk!  hav'  n't  I  ax'd  you  over  and  over 
agin  ? " 

"Not  in  earnest,  I'm  afeerd,  Dinah." 

"  Dis  am  too  much,  Tommy  !  Has  n't  all  of  us  ax'd 
you  to  go  home  to  de  cabin  ?  I  begin  to  think  you  are 
out  of  your  head.  It 's  strange  talk,  at  eenyrate,"  said 
Dinah,  vexed  at  the  fugitive's  pretended  stupidity. 

"  S'pose  I  say  dat  I'll  go?  I  know  you  will  be 
ashamed  of  me." 


492  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    Ofi 

"Will  you,  Tommy?  Oli!  I  am  so  glad!  I  will 
tell  missus  Mary  of  it,  as  soon  as  she  gits  to  her  room," 
said  Dinah,  delighted  to  hear  him  say  so. 

"  Yas,  dat's  what  I  am  thinkin1  of." 

u  Good  —  good  !  Less  hurry  down  stairs,  and  tell 
Pompey,  he  will  be  so  glad  to  hear  it,"  said  Dinah. 

"  "Well,  I  must  go  and  find  mass'r  Sharp,  and  say 
it  to  him." 

"When  will  you  be  back,  Tommy?" 

"Not  long  fust ;  jist  soon  as  I  seed  um,"  said  he. 

"Now  you  do  act  like  de  real  Uncle  Tom  —  yah! 
yah  !  yah !  "  said  Dinah. 

The  fugitive  left  the  hotel  to  find  his  friend,  Mr. 
Sharp,  and  Dinah  ran  to  tell  Pompey  the  good  news. 


493 


CHAPTEE  XXXIII. 

UNCLE  TOM'S   DECISION. 

The  fugitive  found  Mr.  Sharp  anxiously  waiting  for 
him,  at  the  inn  where  they  "put  up."  It  was  some 
distance  from  the  Clifton  House.  He  told  his  friend, 
in  a  plain,  straight-forward  manner,  what  he  purposed 
to  do.  Mr.  Sharp  could  hardly  believe  it. 

"  Why,  man,  if  you  go  back,  the  horrors  of  the  mid 
dle  passage  will  be  no  comparison  to  what  you  will 
suffer.  And  I  should  not  wonder  if  they  killed  you  — 
actually  killed  you  with  bad  treatment,"  said  Mr. 
Sharp. 

"  Dis  nigger  am  not  afeerd  of  dat,"  said  the  fugitive, 
with  perfect  calmness  and  self-possession. 

"  But  can't  you  persuade  Dinah  to  remain  with  you 
in  Canada  ?  Is  she  flighty,  Tom  ? " 

"  Dere  's  no  use  of  talkin'  to  her.  She  is  bent  upon 
having  her  own  wray,"  said  the  fugitive. 

"It  is  strange — very  strange  —  that  a  slave  should 
desire  to  quit  this  country.  I  can  not  understand  it. 
If  they  are  treated  half  as  bad  as  is  represented,  I 

should  suppose    slavedom   would   be  the  last   place 
21* 


494  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  I    OK 

where  they  would  wisli  to  go.  I  repeat,  I.  can't  under 
stand  it,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  vexed  that  the  fugitive  even 
thought  of  going  home  with  his  master. 

"Why,  mass'r  Sharp?  Tell  me  why  I  should  want 
to  stay  and  freeze,  and  starve.  I  hab  'nongh  of  it." 

"Because  your  fortune  heretofore  has  "been  bad,  is 
that  a  good  reason  to  suppose  it  will  continue?  Xon- 
sense!  You  have  been  what  we  call  unlucky.  Better 
times  ahead.  You  are  now  acclimated;  learnt  the 
ways  of  people,  and  you  know  better  how  to  take 
time  by  foretop.  Kow  is  the  time  to  profit  by  experi 
ence.  Fudge  !  abandon  at  once  all  notion  of  returning 
with  the  planter,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Dunno,  massY." 

"Why,  Tom,  Dinah  has  put  this  nonsense  into  your 
head ;  I  know  she  has.  But  as  you  please.  It  is  your 
own  business;  I  have  nothing  to  say.  If  you  are  bent 
upon  it,  why  go;  but  it  will  be  a  nice  commentary,  I 
think,  on  our  efforts  to  befriend  you,"  said  Mr.  Sharp, 
out  of  patience. 

"  You  look  cross.  I  ax  your  pardon,  if  I  ?ve  offended 
you.  Mass'r  Sharp  sez  stay.  What  will  poor  Tom  do 
to  get  living?  Tried  ebery  ting  he  knows  of  now. 
Do  n't  do  no  good,"  replied  the  fugitive,  shaking  his 
head  and  starting  off. 

"  Determined  to  go,  then,  are  you? " 

"  Yas ;  I  can't  make  my  will  say  stay." 

"What  shall  I  tell  Mrs.  Sharp,  Tom?" 

"Dat  poor  Tom  am  guine  home." 

Mr.  Sharp  was  slow  to  believe  that  the  fugitive  was 
in  earnest.  He  felt  ashamed  to  see  his  wife,  and  be 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  495 

compelled  to  inform  her  that  he  had  not  only  failed  to 
get  Dinah,  but  had  lost  Tom  also.  He  never  should 
hear  the  last  of  it.  No  ;  that  would  n't  do.  He  must 
make  one  more  effort  to  change  the  fugitive's  views, 
and  keep  him  at  any  rate. 

Whilst  the  honest,  single-minded  farmer,  from  the 
best  of  motives,  was  thus  considering  what  course  to 
pursue,  the  fugitive  left  the  inn.  Mr.  Sharp  thought 
it  was  his  duty  to  follow,  and  see  if  he  could  not  per 
suade  him  to  remain.  He  noticed  that  the  fugitive 
stopped  to  talk  with  some  person.  He  hurried  on, 
and  in  a  moment  was  by  his  side 

"Mass'r  Bates,  do  you  says  so,  really,  for  gospel?" 
was  the  question  of  the  fugitive,  as  the  farmer  came  up. 

"If  I  did  not  feel  it  in  my  heart,  I  would  n't  advise 
you  to  do  so,"  replied  the  gentleman,  who  was  a  stran 
ger  to  the  farmer. 

It  was  no  other,  reader,  than  the  veritable  school 
master,  Mr.  Bates.  After  his  -return  to  the  North,  he 
had  paid  more  attention  to  his  books,  and  less  to  the 
various  political  topics  of  the  day.  And  the  result 
was,  instead  of  looking  through  a  glass  darkly,  he  took 
a  more  dispassionate  view  —  especially  of  the  question 
of  slavery.  His  opinions  upon  that  perplexing  subject 
had  undergone  a  modification.  lie  knew  the  actual 
condition  of  the  slave,  from  personal  observation,  and 
he  also  knew  the  real  condition  of  the  colored  popula 
tion  at  the  North.  He  was  aware  of  the  delicate  posi 
tion  occupied  by  the  slaveholder,  and  how  much  there 
was  said  and  done  to  excite  malevolence.  There 
might  be  isolated  cases  of  servants  fleeing  from  their 


496  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

masters  and  prospering.  But,  as  a  general  thing,  so 
far  as  the  enjoyment  of  happiness  was  concerned,  they 
were  disappointed.  He  had  been  spending  several 
days  at  this  fashionable  summer  resort,  and  casually 
fell  in  company  with  the  fugitive  that  morning.  He 
did  not  at  first  recognize  the  negro,  his  appearance 
was  so  much  changed,  and  having  no  expectation  of 
meeting  him  there.  But  Tom  knew  the  schoolmaster, 
the  moment  he  saw  him,  and  freely  told  him  that  the 
planter  was  in  the  neighborhood,  and  that  he  meant 
to  return  with  his  master  to  Oakland.  Tom  expected 
that  the  schoolmaster  would  try  to  dissuade  him  from 
doing  so,  and  was  surprised  to  hear  him  talk  differently. 

"  Dis  am  mass'r  Bates,"  said  he  to  Mr.  Sharp,  as  the 
farmer  came  up  to  them,  "he  agrees  wid  me." 

"  Then  he  can  hot  be  a  friend  to  the  colored  man," 
said  Mr.  Sharp,  snappishly. 

Mr.  Bates  smiled,  and  remarked  that  he  did  not 
care  about  entering  into  any  controversy  on  that  point. 
;t  If  you  had  seen  this  old  man  in  his  cabin,  as  I  did, 
you  would  not  hesitate  to  say  I  am  right  in  my  advice," 
he  added,  and  was  about  to  pass  along. 

"  Mass'r  Bates,  s'pose  you  go  an'  see  massa.  My 
young  mass'r  and  missus  are  along,  too.  Come." 

Mr.  Bates  hardly  knew  what  to  do.  lie  felt  as 
though  he  had  done  Mr.  Erskine  a  creat  wrong;,  and 

o  o  O  J 

would  rather  keep  out  of  his  presence.  But  Tom 
urged  him  so  hard,  he  consented  to  go  back  and  make 
a  friendly  call. 

The  farmer  did  not  fancy  the  talk,  and  began  to 
abandon  all  hope  of  success. 


497 

" Blast  the  slaves!"  said  lie  to  himself,  but  loud 
enough  to  be  overheard,  if  he  had  not  halted  to  speak 
to  some  person  on  the  common,  beckoning  him  to  stop ; 
"  I  will  not  bother  myself  any  more  about  them.  If 
Mrs.  Sharp  must  fret  and  scold,  why  let  her  do  it ;  I 
am  not  going  to  run  around  and  keep  myself  in  a  stew 
for  them,  any  longer.  If  they  are  mind  to  come  here 
and  live,  why  let  them  take  care  of  themselves,  like 
other  people." 

The  man  on  the  common  turned  out  to  be  Mr. 
Brown.  It  seemed,  that  Nelly  could  learn  nothing  of 
the  whereabouts  of  Tom,  from  the  free  negro,  Jake,  or 
from  Hard ;  and  thinking  he  might  have  gone  to  the 
inn  at  Saint  Davids,  she  took  the  boat  to  Chippewa, 
and  from  thence  by  railroad  to  Queenston  —  a  small 
village  only  a  short  distance.  She  reached  Mr.  Brown's 
place  late  in  the  afternoon  ;  and  Mrs.  Brown  concluded 
that  her  husband  should  take  the  washer-woman  to 
the  Falls,  before  breakfast  the  ensuing  morning.  He 
had  just  arrived,  when  he  espied  his  friend,  Mr.  Sharp, 
Tom,  and  another  gentleman,  in  conference  together. 
He  hurried  toward  them,  and  fortunately  attracted 
the  attention  of  the  farmer. 

"Tom's  master,  I  understand,  is  over  the  other 
side,"  said  he,  running  up  to  Mr.  Sharp;  "who  is 
that  gentleman  walking  with  him  ?  " 


"His  name  is  given  me  as  Bates." 


u  Who  is  he  ?     A  friend,  I  take  it  ?  '• 
"Well,  yes;  I  s'pose  we  can  call  him  so." 
"You  speak  as  if  you  doubted  it.     Where  is  he 
and  Tom  going?"  asked  Mr.  Brown. 


498  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH  ;    OH 

u  The  negro  is  on  his  way  to  the  Clifton  House,  and 
he  asked  the  gentleman  to  go  along." 

"  Ah  !  I  see.  He  has  gone  to  look  for  his  wife.  He 
don't  think  of  crossing,  I  hope  —  docs  he?"  inquired 
Mr.  Brown. 

"  Oh !  he  has  seen  her  already,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"  Good  news !  I  am  right  glad  to  hear  so.  She 
finally  consented  to  come  over,  hey?  Very  well;  the 
master  can  go  home  two  less  now,"  remarked  Mr. 
Brown. 

"  I  do  n't  see  very  well  how  she  could  do  otherwise 
than  come  over;  for,  I  understand,  the  master  would 
not  stop  on  the  American  side,"  coolly  replied  Mr. 
Sharp. 

"  You  do  n't  say  the  planter  stopped  — "  Mr.  Brown's 
breath  was  so  short,  from  astonishment,  that  the  last 
word  uttered  was  inaudible. 

"He  put  up  at  the  Clifton  House,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"At  the  Clifton  House!  And  brought  his  slaves 
with  him  ?  The  man  must  be  crazy,  I  do  believe." 

"  It 's  so,  Mr.  Brown;  and  that 's  not  the  worst  of 
it.  Tom  is  going  home  with  him  !  " 

"Tom  going  home  again!  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Brown. 

"  It 's  actually  so,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Well,  well;  I  wonder  what  Mrs.  Brown  will  say 
now?"  said  Mr.  Brown,  almost  overcome  with  the  news. 

Mr.  Sharp  suggested  that  Tom  would  soon  be  out  of 
sight,  if  they  remained  where  they  were. 

"  We  must  put  a  stop  to  this,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"  Out  of  the  question,  sir." 

"Tom  can't  be  such  a  dunce!  " 


499 

u  I  am  not  prepared  to  say  he  is  not  right,"  replied 
Mr.  Sharp. 

"  What  !  I  trust  you  have  not  advised  him  to  this 
course." 


exactly,  sir." 

"How  is  this,  Mr.  Sharp?  You  seem  to  be  reserved. 
I  took  it  for  granted  that  we  should  act  in  unison." 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Brown.  But  if  the  negro  has  gone 
through  one-half  what  he  says  he  has,  I  can't  blame 
him.  He  has  been  near  starvation,  and  my  only-  won 
der  is,  that  he  is  alive,"  replied  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Ah!  I  believe  I  understand  you.  You  go  for 
gradual  emancipation  ;  I  told  Mrs.  Brown  I  suspected 
as  much.  Mrs.  Sharp  don't,  though,  I  can  tell  you!  " 
said  Mr.  Brown,  with  a  sneer. 

"  I  think  we  should  look  at  things  just  as  they  are  ; 
there  is  no  use  in  blinding  our  eyes.  Take  Tom,  for 
example;  is  his  condition  improved?" 

"  Only  one  case  out  of  a  hundred,  sir.  He  has 
been  unlucky,  as  we  term  it  ;  that  's  all." 

"  I  can't  admit  that.  But,  no  matter  ;  you  agree 
his  condition  is  not  bettered.  Why  not  favor  his 
return  home  ?  " 

"The  principle,  sir,  is  at  stake;  and  how  do  we 
know  but  that  he  will  be  more  fortunate  hereafter. 
He  has  paid  for  his  experience;  and,  I  presume, 
learned  wisdom  from  the  past,"  replied  Mr.  Brown. 

They  reached  the  hotel  without  overtaking  the  negro, 
and  lost  sight  of  him. 

"I  should  like  to  get  a  look  at  his  master,"  said  Mr. 
Brown,  as  they  entered  the  house  ;  "  and  we  must 


500  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OB 

Lurry  and  find  Tom.  Should  n't  be  surprised  if  they 
have  already  taken  him  across." 

"We  will  go  into  the  sitting-room;  perhaps  Mr. 
Bates  may  be  there,"  said  Mr.  Sharp. 

"Do  you  know  the  planter?" 

"  ISTo." 

"  Seen  him,  of  course? " 

"No;  I  havn't  set  my  eyes  on  him  yet;  that  it,  I 
have  not  recognized  him  yet." 

"  "Well,  I  should  like  to  make  his  acquaintance.  I 
would  like  to  hear  his  justification;  the  old  story, 
though,  I  presume,"  remarked  Mr.  Brown. 

"There  is  Mr.  Bates,  now,"  said  Mr.  Sharp,  as  they 
entered  the  sitting-room.  I  '11  introduce  you  to  him ;  " 
and  they  crossed  the  room  to  the  window. 

"  My  friend,  Mr.  Brown,"  said  Mr.  Sharp  to  Mr. 
Bates. 

Mr.  Bates  was  conversing  with  the  planter,  and 
barely  had  an  opportunity  to  intimate  to  the  planter 
his  advice  to  Tom  to  return,  when  the  farmer  and  inn 
keeper  came  to  the  window.  He  gave  both  of  their 
an  introduction  to  Mr.  Erskine,  who  politely  invited 
them  to  be  seated. 

The  innkeeper  remarked  that  Tom  had  lived  with 
him  for  several  months,  and  left  contrary  to  his  wish. 

"Any  charges,  sir?"  asked  the  planter. 

The  innkeeper  was  amazed  at  this  unexpected 
question,  and  hemmed  and  coughed,  and  did  not  make 
much  of  a  reply. 

"  How  did  I  understand  you,  sir  ? "  asked  the  planter, 
with  remarkable  complacency. 


UNCLE  TOM?S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  501 

The  innkeeper  felt  abashed,  but  succeeded  in  stam 
mering,  "  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Brown,  sir." 

"Thank  you  —  will  be  much  obliged,'1  replied  the 
planter;  and  turned  again  to  Mr.  Bates. 

"  Shall  we  be  moving?  "  said  the  innkeeper  presently 
to  the  farmer,  in  an  undertone. 

Mr.  Sharp  was  too  much  interested  in  the  conversa 
tion  between  the  planter  and  Mr.  Bates,  to  heed  the 
innkeeper's  remark.  Shortly,  the  planter  asked  of  Mr. 
Sharp  if  he  resided  at  the  Falls,  and  other  common 
place  questions.  The  innkeeper  was  envious  of  the 
planter's  attention  to  the  farmer. 

"I  understand  you  claim  Tom,  sir? "  he  said. 

"  For  what  ?  "  quickly  asked  the  planter. 

"  As  your  slave,  sir." 

"  I  am  not  aware  of  that.  lie  is  my  property,  uo 
doubt,  as  the  law  stands  with  us.  But  he  can  do  as 
he  likes ;  return  home  or  stay,  as  may  suit  his  dis 
position." 

;c  lie  has  a  good  heart,  sir.  But,  you  are  aware  we 
go  against  servitude  here.  This  is  a  free  country." 

"  You  mean  free  in  a  limited  sense,  I  apprehend." 

a  No,  sir ;  it 's  general." 

"  Yes ;  the  blacks  are  free.  But,  in  my  country, 
the  whites  are  free.  Give  me  the  stars  and  stripes; 
that 's  the  flag  for  me,"  replied  the  planter ;  and  rose 
to  leave  the  room. 

"  I  am  sorry,  sir,  I  can't  agree  with  you.  I  will  say 
one  thing,  though ;  you  do  n't  seem  to  be  afraid  to 
bring  your  slaves  here.  I  am  told  you  have  two  in 
\oiir  company,"  said  the  innkeeper. 


502  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH;    OR 

"  Yes ;  and  I  would  bring  the  whole  plantation, 
without  being  afraid  that  they  would  leave  me," 
replied  the  planter. 

"You  see  he  has  no  fear,''  remarked  Mr.  Sharp  to 
his  friend,  as  they  walked  into  the  hall. 

"  It 's  all  put  on  for  the  occasion.  We  must  look  up 
Tom,  and  persuade  him  to  go  to  Saint  Davids.  It 
will  never  do  to  let  him  go  in  this  way ;  he  will  suffer 
if  they  get  him  back.  The  planter  has  taken  this 
course  because  he  believes  it  better  than  to  use  force. 
You  can  depend  upon  it,  I  am  right.  If  I  can  have  a 
chance  to  talk  to  Tom,  lie  will  take  my  advice,"  said 
the  innkeeper. 

"Well,  we  will  loiter  until  you  see  him,"  replied 
Mr.  Sharp,  glad  that  the  innkeeper  was  there  to  take 
the  lead.  He  cared  but  little  as  to  the  result. 

Mr.  Brown  assented,  and  they  whiled  away  the 
time  in  gazing  at  the  strangers.  In  the  course  of  an 
hour  or  so,  Tom  made  his  appearance,  and  Mr.  Brown 
found  no  difficulty  in  engaging  the  negro  in  conversa 
tion.  The  innkeeper  went  aside  with  him  into  the 
garden,  and  undertook  to  divest  him  of  the  notion  of 
£oino;  back  with  his  master,  by  picturing,  as  vividly  as 

CO  *J      JL  O "  */ 

he  could,  his  situation  and  the  pains  and  service  he 
would  be  compelled  to  undergo  when  he  reached  home. 
Tom  could  not  appreciate  it.  The  pains  and  service 
he  had  suffered  since  he  came  away,  were  constantly 
in  his  mind ;  and  he  disliked  the  idea  of  making 
another  experiment. 

"  I  can't  try  urn  again,"  he  said. 

"The  trouble  is,"  paid  Mr.  Brown,  "that  friend  who 


503 

advised  you  to  run  away — and  now,  very  strangely,  it 
appears  to  me,  advises  you  to  return  —  give  you  too 
big  expectations.  No  wonder  your  disappointment. 
But  mark  what  I  tell  you,  lie  is  as  far  from  sense 
now  as  lie  was  then,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"  Mass'r  Bates  hab  repented,"  said  Tom. 

"Pooh!  Don't  talk  to  me  about  repentance!  He 
has  been  bought !  The  planter  has  hired  him  to  advise 
you  to  go  back,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"  Dunno,"  said  Tom. 

"  I  know ;  and  let  me  tell  you,  you  are  unwise  to 
listen  to  a  single  word  he  says.  His  motives  are  all 
wrong.  Come,  go  with  me,  and  ask  your  real  friend, 
Nelly — she  that  kept  the  breath  of  life  in  you,  when 
you  lay  at  the  point  of  death  last  winter — and  see 
what  she  says.  If  her  advice  is  to  go,  I  won't  say 
another  word  about  it ;  and  I  will  pick  my  way  home 
at  once,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"  Nelly  !  d  'ye  say  ?     "Whar'  am  she  2 " 

"Near  by.  Come.  She  is  the  friend  for  you  to 
consult,"  said  Mr.  Brown. 

Tom  liked  Nelly,  and  felt  grateful  for  the  interest 
she  had  manifested  in  his  welfare.  Happy  to  see  her 
once  more,  if  only  to  say  good-bye,  he  complied  with 
the  inn-keeper's  request,  and  accompanied  him  to  the 
hill,  some  distance  in  the  rear  of  the  hotel. 

Mrs.  Brown  stopped  at  a  private  house,  and  Nelly 
remained  there  during  his  absence  at  the  Clifton  House, 
because  he  ordered  her  to  do  so,  not  because  she  was 
not  anxious  to  see  Tom.  As  they  entered  the  yard,  she 
bounded  out  of  the  house,  and  greeted  Tom  heartily. 


504  LIFE   AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    Oii 

"  Mr.  Brown  was  so  long  coming,  I  had  about  given 
you  up  for  lost,  Tom,"  she  said. 

'•  Keber  fear  dat.     Jake  war'  aidiist  me,  though." 

G  <5 

"Have  you  found  Dinah?" 

"Ax  mass'r  Brown  if  I  hav  i^t." 

"Well,  can  you  get  her?"  asked  Kelly,  secretly 
wishing  he  had  not,  and  partly  believing  so,  for  she 
heard  that  the  planter  did  not  halt  at  the  Falls. 

"  Ko,"  interposed  the  innkeeper,  "  but  she's  got  him." 

"Nonsense!  Mr.  Brown." 

"  True.    He  is  going  Lome  with  her ! "  said  Mr.  Brown. 

"Impossible!  Tom,  it  is  false!  I  know  it  is," 
exclaimed  Kelly. 

The  negro  felt  mortified,  and  regretted  he  left  the 
hotel,  and  making  no  reply,  moved  towards  the  gate. 

"You  are  not  going  so  (pick,  Tom?"  asked  Kelly, 
more  in  sorrow  than  in  anger. 

"  Yas,  they  are  waitin',"  he  replied. 

"And  you  do  not  care  for  the  poor  washwoman! 
Oh!  Tom.  Tom!  This  comes  from  taking  sich  good 

O  O 

care  of  you  !  If  it  was  not  for  me,  you  would  have 
been  under  the  turf  long  ago  !  And  you  know  it,  too," 
said  Kelly,  her  eyes  moist  with  grief. 

"  Do  n't  Lab  sich  bad  feelin's,  Kelly,  massa  will 
make  it  right  with  you.  lie  am  at  the  hotel.  You 
can  go  wid  me  to  him,  an'  I  '11  tell  him  all  about  it." 

Kelly  had  no  time  to  parley,  as  Tom  immediately 
went  out  of  the  yard. 

"  Set  him  against  that  southern  friend,  Mr.  Bates. 
He  is  hired  to  mislead.,"  said  the  innkeeper,  as  she 
passed  through  the  gate. 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  505 

The  washer-woman  did  not  know  exactly  what  that 
remark  meant,  as  Mr.  Brown  had  no  opportunity  to 
explain. 

"  Tom,  do  n't  walk  so  fast  —  plenty  o'  time.  I  want 
to  talk  with  you,"  she  remarked. 

"  Berry  good.  Alwars  willin'  to  hear  yer  talk, 
Nelly." 

"  Can  it  be,  you  are  really  going  to  the  plantation  ? " 

"Yas." 

"  What  makes  you  act  so  ?  Who  is  this  Mr. 
Bates?" 

"Why,  hav  n't  I  told  you  who  he  was? " 

"Something  said  concerning  him,  at  our  house  on 
Vine  street." 

"  Did  n't  I  told  you  who  he  am,  dat  morning  I  seed 
um  on  the  street  in  Buffalo?  Sure  I  did.  Don't  ax 
me  sich  foolish  questions,  when  you  know'd  all,  your 
self,"  said  Tom,  in  any  thing  but  a  pleasant  voice. 

The  washer-woman  deemed  it  prudent  to  abandon 
that  inquiry. 

"What  is  the  reason  Dinah  won't  stay?  I  think 
she  would  if  urged,  now  she  is  in  Canada,"  said  Nelly, 
changing  the  subject. 

"No,  an'  to  tell  you  as  I  feel,  why  should  she? 
Nothin'  to  live  on  —  nothin'  to  do — no  whar'  to  lay 
our  heads,"  he  replied. 

"Mrs.  Brown  said  you  could  come  to  Saint  Davids. 
The  good  landlady  told  me  to  be  sure  and  fetch  both, 
if  possible." 

"  Ha,  haw,  haw !  Dis  nigger  had  'nough  of  dat 
town.  No,  no ;  Mass'r  Bates  am  right  dis  time.  I  am 


506  LIFE    AT   THE    SOUTH;    OK 

sorry  I  must  leave  you,  Kelly ;  but  massa  will  make 
it  all  right,"  said  Tom. 

The  washer-woman  almost  despaired  of  making  any 
impression. 

"  Where  did  you  last  see  old  Hard  ?  "  inquired  Kelly. 

"  On  de  boat.  He  got  off,  he  told,  to  hunt  up  you. 
Dat  's  whar'  I  seed  um." 

"  Would  you  like  to  know  whar'  you  will  see  him 
next." 

"  Yas,  but  I  hates  him,  Kelly,"  said  Tom. 

"  When  you  and  Dinah  are  crossing  the  ferry.' 

"  Ko  chance  to  talk  with  the  old  rip  tharV 

"  He  will  drive  you  into  the  whirlpool,  and  that  will 
be  the  last  of  Tom  and  Dinah ! "  said  the  washer 
woman,  in  a  solemn  voice. 

"  Wha'  dat  you  say?  whirl — pool.  Dunno,  dunno 
what  you  mention,  Kelly." 

"  Whirlpool !  why  the  place  under  the  Falls  what 
has  no  bottom !  " 

"  An'  drown  us  — kill  us ?  am  dat  de  meaning?  Try 
um  agin,  Kelly.  Ko  scare  dis  nigger  —  yah,  yah,  yah ! 
Why,  Lor'  bless  you,  the  old  rip  must  keep  out  o'  way  of 
our  big  boat,  or  he  will  run  under  his  self;  yah.  yah,  yah ! 
Ko,  no.  I'm  not  afeerd  of  Hard.  Kone  too  good, 
though  ;  I  know'd  dat  from  'perience,"  replied  Tom. 

The  washer-woman  gave  it  up.  Her  only  hope,  she 
thought,  was  to  enlist  Mr.  Bates ;  and  if  she  could  only 
see  him,  she  thought  he  might  be  persuaded  to  advise 
the  fugitive  differently.  They  presently  reached  the 
hotel  grounds,  and  Tom  requested  her  to  wait  near  the 
door,  until  he  ran  up  to  Dinah's  room. 


sor 

Mr.  Brown  could  not  quietly  remain  on  the  hill,  and 
having  taken  a  shorter  route,  was  on  the  piazza,  con 
versing  with  Mr.  Bates.  Nelly  heard  the  innkeeper 
call  Mr.  Bates  by  name,  and  she  wished  she  could  get 
a  chance  to  speak  with  him,  if  only  to  say  a  few  words. 
She  beckoned  to  Mr.  Brown  as  soon  as  she  caught 
his  eye. 


"  Is  that  the  gentleman?"  she  asked. 


Mr.  Brown  informed  her  it  was,  but  that  he  talked 
very  discouragingly. 

"  Can't  I  get  a  chance  to  say  a  word  to  him  ?  "  she 
asked. 

"Doubtful.  But  you  go  around  into  the  garden, 
and  I  will  bring  him  to  you,  if  possible,"  said  Mr. 
Brown. 

Nelly  did  as  requested,  and  soon  had  the  opportu 
nity  of  speaking  her  mind  to  Mr.  Bates.  He  discov 
ered  that  she  evinced  more  than  an  ordinary  desire  to 
retain  Tom ;  and  he  was  too  much  acquainted  with  the 
workings  of  the  human  heart  not  to  perceive,  also,  that 
if  she  could  have  her  own  way,  Dinah  would  be  sure 
to  return  with  her  master.  In  answer  to  her  urgent 
importunity  to  advise  the  fugitive  to  stay  at  the  North, 
he  said  that  he  considered  himself  worthy  of  reprehen 
sion  for  holding  out  such  strong  inducements  to  the 
slave  to  escape  from  his  master,  and  he  deemed  it  his 
duty  now  to  make  a  partial  atonement,  by  persuading 
or  at  least  counseling  him  to  do  what  he  considered  to 
be  for  his  good. 

"Is  there  no  hope  of  your  aid,  then? "  said  she. 

u  Not  any,  my  good  woman.     And  were  it  not  that 


60S  L1F.I']    AT   TUB   SOUTH  ;    OR 

I  felt  that  I  Lad  injured  my  friend  Mr.  Erskine,  I 
should  not  trouble  myself,"  said  Mr.  Bates. 

Kelly  retired  from  his  presence  disheartened,  and 
feeling  that  she  must  make  up  her  mind  to  say  farewell 
to  Tom,  and  in  all  probability  for  forever. 

Mr.  Brown  joined  her,  and  learning  that  she  had 
made  no  impression  upon  the  fugitive  in  her  brief 
interview  with  him,  said  that  he  would  make  one  more 
effort  himself. 

"  Plead  with  him,"  Mr.  Brown,  for  my  sake.  He 
lived  in  my  house  so  long,  I  feel  attached  to  him." 

The  innkeeper  promised  to  do  all  he  could,  and  went 
back  to  the  hotel.  Tom  was  hurrying  down  from 
Dinah's  room,  and  met  him  in  the  hall. 

"  I  have  just  left  Kelly,  your  old  nurse.  She  is  in 
agony,  because  you  think  of  leaving,  Tom.  It 's  too 
bad,  after  she  has  taken  so  many  steps  for  you,  and 
by  most  affectionate  watchfulness  saved  your  life  !  " 

"  "Where  is  she  ?  I  war  guine  to  tell  her  dat  massa 
would  make  it  all  right,"  replied  Tom,  viewing  it 
simply  as  a  business  transaction,  although  he  felt  the 
deepest  gratitude  for  her  kind  attention. 

"  She  has  gone  to  the  hill,"  replied  the  innkeeper. 

"  Please,  mass'r,  tell  her ;  wha'  more  can  I  do  2  An' 
if  she  wrill  come  here  dis  arternoon,  my  young  missus, 
Mary,  will  settle  to  her  content.  As  for  dis  nigger, 
he  's  guine  to  ole  Yirginny,"  said  Tom,  and  skipped 
through  the  hall,  and  up  stairs,  with  more  agility  than 
he  had  displayed  since  he  left  the  cabin. 


509 


CHAPTER  XXXIY. 


It  was  on  a  Saturday  that  the  scenes  recounted  in 
the  preceding  chapter  occurred ;  and  on  the  following 
Monday  Mr.  Erskine  and  his  family  left  the  Clifton 
House.  During  the  intermediate  time,  various  efforts 
were  made  to  change  Tom's  decision,  but  without 
avail.  The  planter,  to  his  credit  be  it  spoken,  remun 
erated  Nelly  for  her  good  care  of  the  fugitive;  and 
she  returned  to  Vine  street  with  her  mind  fully  im 
pressed  that  "  people  thrive  most  who  attend  to  their 
own  business."  Mr.  Brown  and  Mr.  Sharp  thought 
they  had  performed  their  duty  to  the  utmost  of  their 
ability,  that  no  sensible  friend  of  the  colored  race 
should  find  fault  with  them,  and  had  gone  home  — 
the  former  entertaining  harsher  feelings  than  ever 
toward  those  whom  he  was  pleased  to  denominate 
dealers  and  traffickers  in  human  flesh ;  and  the  latter 
chuckling  at  Tom's  obstinacy,  but  dreading  to  encoun 
ter  the  wrath  of  Mrs.  Sharp. 

The  planter  did  not  take  Buffalo  in  his  route,  but 
passed  to  Lake  Ontario,  and  disembarking  at  the  city 


510' 

of  Oswego,  traveled  rapidly  on  to  Saratoga.  Delighted 
with  the  beautiful  country,  aud  prosperous  villages 
through  which  he  passed,  he  arrived  at  this  far-famed 
watering-place,  with  the  intention  of  remaining  there 
a  fortnight  at  least. 

As  the  space  Allotted  for  the  residue  of  this  narra 
tive  is  limited,  we  must  quickly  locate  the  newly- 
arrived  guests  at  the  hotel,  and  at  once  take  the  reader 
to  Congress  Spring. 

In  was  in  the  morning,  a  day  or  two  after  the  planter 
reached  Saratoga.  Frederick  and  Mary  had  gone 
there  to  drink  the  water  before  breakfast.  Many  of 
the  visitors  from  abroad  were  there  also.  Whilst 
Frederick  was  elbowing  his  way  amid  the  crowd,  he 
overheard  the  remark,  "there  comes  the  slave!"  and 
casting  his  eyes  toward  the  hotel,  he  perceived  Tom 
and  Poinpey  on  the  sidewalk.  He  was  satisfied  that 
whoever  made  the  remark  intended  it  for  Tom ;  and 
relieving  himself  as  soon  as  he  conveniently  could 
from  the  pressure,  looked  around  for  the  observer.  He 
discovered  a  gentleman  intently  looking  in  the  direc 
tion  from  which  the  slave  was  approaching  the  spring, 
and  surmised  that  this  was  the  person.  He  watched 
the  gentleman,  and  presently  saw  him  touch  a  person 
by  his  side,  and  whisper  something  in  his  ear. 

"Mary, "'said  Frederick,  giving  her  his  arm,  "watch 
Tom  ;  I  think  there  is  a  plot  afoot.  "We  will  step  aside." 

"  What  now  !  "  said  she,  her  feelings  excited  by  her 
orother's  earnestness. 

"Listen." 

They  stood  a  moment  or  two,  alternately  looking  at 


UNCLE  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  51  1 

the  sliives  and  the  two  strangers.  One  of  the  latter 
was  a  tall,  sleek,  good-natured  man,  whilst  the  other 
was  a  short,  harsh,  thin-faced  person  —  his  visage 
indicating  him  to  be  never  at  ease,  and  continually 
restless  with  the  burden  of  care.  The  former  had  a 
pleasant  smile,  and  naturally  was  disposed  to  take  the 
world  as  he  found  it;  while  the  latter  saw  nothing 

O 

that  was  good  but  himself,  and  always  prepared  to 
express  an  opinion.  The  phrenologist,  however,  would 
not  fail  to  perceive  one  quality  common  to  both.  They 
possessed,  in  an  eminent  degree,  the  bump  of  fanati 
cism  ;  and  the  size  of  this  organ  indicated  that  it  had 
been  well  cultivated.  Possibly  the  term  we  use  is  not 
vernacular ;  but  the  reader,  it  is  hoped,  understands 
what  is  meant. 

"Allgood,"  inquired  the  tall  gentleman,  "  how  do 
you  know  that  is  the  slave  ? " 

"  Bless  you,  Mr.  Pettibone,  did  n't  I  see  him  often  ! 
It  is  the  identical  person.  lie  is  too  old  ever  to  lose 
the  marks  of  the  frost;  he  will  carry  them  to  his 
grave." 

u  lie  seems  to  be  full  of  merriment — particularly 
for  one  of  his  age,"  replied  Mr.  Pettibone. 

"Very  likely  —  very  likely.  lie  don't  appreciate 
the  privilege  of  being  a  man.  It  is  astonishing,  after 
all  that  has  been  said  and  done,  we  should  find  some 
colored  persons  so  obtuse.  I  see  he  knows  me.  I  will 
speak  to  the  fool  !  "  said  Mr.  Allgood. 

"  Well,  Tom,  I  see  you  do  not  follow  my  advice. 
Left  Buffalo,  your  friend  Xelly  says,  to  go  South." 

T>c  slave  did  not  pay  any  attention  to  the  remark. 


512  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OH 

Mr.  Allgood  thought  Tom  did  not  hear  what  he  said, 
and  repeated  it.  The  slave  did  not  appear  to  know 
him. 

"Why,  Tom,  don't  you  recollect  me?"  he  said,  in 
a  louder  and  more  earnest  tone ;  and  laid  his  hand 
upon  Tom's  arm.  The  slave  could  not  very  well  avoid 
noticing  him. 

"Ivnow'd  you!  don't  dis  nigger  recollect  dat  morn 
ing  when  he  called  for  help?  Keber  forget  you, 
mass'r  Olgood,'7  replied  Tom,  with  a  sneer. 

Mr.  Pettibone  observed  the  demeanor  of  the  slave 
toward  his  friend,  and  conscious  of  the  cause,  was 
ashamed,  and  almost  wished  himself  in  other  com 
pany.  Mr.  Allgood  spoke  loud  enough  to  be  over 
heard  by  half  of  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  present, 
and  many  of  them  were  giggling  at  his  expense. 
Unable  to  keep  his  thoughts  to  himself- — especially 
upon  the  subject  of  negro  rights  —  it  seemed  that  ho 
had  enlightened  half  of  the  sojourn ers  in  the  village 
with  his  views  and  opinions,  although  he  had  not  been 
there  four  and  twenty  hours.  And  many  of  them 
were  very  happy  to  see  him  meet  with  the  rebuff  from 
the  slave.  He  bit  his  lip,  and  with  more  blood  appa 
rently  in  his  thin,  withered  face,  than  had  shown  itself 
there  for  a  twelve-month,  he  joined  Air.  Pettibone, 
who  could  scarcely  restrain  his  risibility,  and  walked 
leisurely  up  the  street. 

"I  have  no  patience  with  the  slave.  He  don't 
know  his  rights,  and  so  impudent,  (rood  enough  for 
him!  I  hope  his  master  will  pound  him  to  pieces  I  ' 
paid  he. 


UNCLK  TOM'S  CABIN  AS  IT  IS.  513 

"  Not  at  all,  Mr.  Allgood,"  very  pleasantly  replied 
Mr.  Pettibone;  "I  judge  the  slave  is  offended  with 
yon  for  some  trifling  cause." 

"Oh!  I  understand  his  insulting  allusion!  Lazy, 
and  keeping  the  company  of  a  drunken  loafer  by  the 
name  of  Hard  —  and  who,  by  the  way,  is  a  runaway — 
he  called  one  morning,  and  actually  had  the  impu 
dence  to  ask  me  to  open  my  purse  and  lend  him 
money !  I  refused  him,  of  course,  sir ;  and  you  see 
what  I  get  by  it.  My  heart  yearns,  though,  for  the 
poor  slave,"  replied  Mr.  Allgood. 

After  the  great  friend  of  negro  rights  left  the  spring, 
it  so  happened  that  Mr.  Bates  made  his  appearance, 
and  was  informed  by  Frederick  of  the  interview  be 
tween  Tom  and  Mr.  Allgood.  Indeed,  many  of  the 
persons  who  witnessed  it  were  tittering  at  its  ridicu 
lousness  ;  and  Mr.  Bates  would  have  inquired  the 
cause,  if  he  had  not  been  told. 

"  Tom,"  said  he,  "  pay  no  attention  to  him.  He  is 
wild  on  this  subject.  He  do  n't  stop  to  look  at  con 
sequences." 

"  He  's  too  stingy  to  be  good,"  replied  the  slave. 

"  It  did  my  soul  good  to  see  Tom  treat  him  so  cava 
lierly,"  remarked  Frederick.  "  I  did  not  know,  when 
I  first  observed  the  gentleman,  but  that  we  might  have 
trouble.  Do  you  know  his  friend  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  he  is  a  member  of  Congress.     Wild,  I  think, 

O  .      / 

on  some  points,  but  a  good  sort  of  man.     Talks  inort) 
for  effect  than  because  he  feels  it,"  replied  Mr.  Bates 
"No  danger  of  rescue,  then,  sir? " 

"  From  Allgood,  do  vou  mean  ?  " 

22* 


514:  LIFE    AT    THE    SOUTH  ;    OR 

«  Yes." 

"Gracious!  no.  Ha!  ha!  ha!  He  is  all  talk.  1 
doubt  whether  he  could  plan  a  rescue.  No,  no;  Mr. 
Frskine  can  dismiss  all  fear,"  replied  Mr.  Bates,  with 
sincerity. 

"Father  has  no  intimation  of  what  has  occurred," 
said  Frederick. 

"Then,  it  is  not  worth  while  to  advise  him.  Unless 
you  make  some  new  observation,  I  would  n't  trouble 
your  father  with  the  news.  Mr.  Allgood  is  a  very 
harmless  man." 

"  You  know  him  ?  " 

""Well,  from  reputation.  If  you  will  take  the  trou 
ble  to  go  up  where  he  stops,  you  can  listen  to  his  talk- 
by  the  hour,  and  not  get  a  single  new  idea.  He  si  in 
ply  repeats  what  he  hears  others  say.  Give  yourself 
no  uneasiness,"  replied  Mr.  Bates. 

After  breakfast,  Mr.  Bates  met  Mr.  Allgood  and 
the  member  of  Congress  in  the  drawing-room.  They 
stopped  at  the  same  hotel.  Mr.  Allgood  talked  excit 
edly  concerning  the  wrongs  suffered  by  the  slaves  at 
the  South,  and  insisted  that  the  only  redress  was 
immediate  emancipation.  Mr.  Bates  said  that  his 
experience  taught  him,  that  they  were  not  prepared 
for  so  sudden  a  transition,  whilst  Mr.  Pettibone  thought 
it  was  the  duty  of  every  philanthropist  to  keep  the 
subject  at  all  times  prominently  before  the  people. 
And  there  we  will  leave  these  gentlemen,  each  enter 
taining  his  own  peculiar  views,  but  agreeing  upon  th  i 
main  question,  that  the  time  might  finally  come  when 
*he  institution  would  be  at  an  end. 


515 

Mr.  Erskine's  visit  overrun  its  intended  duration. 
The  society  was  so  pleasant,  and  Frederick  and  Mary 
enjoyed  themselves  so  much,  that  lie  prolonged  his 
stay.  After  leaving  Saratoga,  he  did  not  hurry  directly 
homeward,  but  lingered  for  several  days  at  Rockaway  ; 
and  traveling  by  easy  stages,  did  not  reach  Oakland 
until  many  days  had  elapsed  in  the  month  of  Septem 
ber.  Having  had  a  most  delightful  tour,  and  unex 
pectedly  recovered  the  possession  of  the  fugitive,  he 
was  happy  that  he  gratified  his  children,  and  thankful 
for  his  good  luck.  He  appreciated  more  highly  the 
privileges  which  he  enjoyed,  under  the  constitution 
of  his  country,  in  common  with  all  its  citizens,  and 
learned  to  entertain  kinder  sentiments,  without  refer 
ence  to  the  particular  section  of  this  widely-extended 
confederacy  wherein  they  might  happen  to  dwell. 


CHAPTER   XXXY. 

CONCLUSION. 

It  was  late  in  the  evening  when  the  party  arrived 
at  the  plantation.  All  the  way  from  Millwood,  Tom 
was  stretching  his  neck  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the 
cabin ;  and  when  it  burst  in  sight,  he  could  scarcely 
contain  himself.  There  it  was,  with  the  little  yard 
and  veranda,  just  as  he  left  it  four  years  before.  The 
grass-plot  in  front  of  the  quarters  was  there  also.  The 


516 

old  mansion  appeared  as  venerable  as  when  last  he 
saw  it;  and  although  the  twilight  was  dim,  everything 
looked  natural. 

Such  was  Tom's   eagerness   to  go  to  the  quarter?, 
after  the  coach  stopped  at  the  gate,  he  did  not  wait  for 
Dinah,  but   ran  ahead.     The   master's   return   home 
waked  up  many  slaves,  and  by  the  time  Tom  reached 
the  cabin,  the  quarters  were  alive  with  rejoicings  and 
congratulations.     With  a  pleasant  smile,  and  a  kind 
word  for  all  lie  met,  the  slave  caught  up  his  children 
with  a  pleasure  bordering  on  wildness.    lie  kissed  and 
hugged  them,  his  large  eyes  streaming  with  tears  of 
joy.     He  had  not  language  to  express  his  emotions  of 
gratitude,  for  being  permitted  again  to  stand  upon  his 
native  soil.     His  return  was   unexpected  to   all,  and 
many  of  his  old  companions  supposed  him  to  be  dead. 
Care  had  wrought  some  change  in  the  lineaments  of 
his  face. 

"Why,  Uncle  Tom!''  exclaimed  Philisee,  who, 
hearing  the  merry  laugh  and  lively  talk  outside, 
jumped  from  the  bed  and  run  out  of  her  cabin,  "am 
you  really  him?  Tom  —  de  real  Uncle  Tom!  Whar' 
on  arth  d'  ye  cum  from?" 

"Gib  urn,  Philisee,"  he  said,  seizing  her  hand,  and 
shaking  it  with  great  violence,  "I  alwars  liked  you. 
Lor'  bless  you,  Phiii,  dat  face  of  yourn  neber  looked 
better." 

"  We  ar'  glad  you've  got  rid  of  your  foelin's,  an' 
hab  missed  you  much.  Good  gracious!  Uncle  Tom, 
whar'  did  you  git  them  scratches  ? "  she  a&ked,  point 
ing  to  crumpled  skin  upon  his  forehead. 


UNCLE  TOM  3  CABIN  AS  IT  IS. 


517 


UNCLK    TOM    AT    "HOME." 

"Oh!  dat 's  noffin!  Some  oder  time  will  mention 
urn  to  you,"  he  replied ;  and  entered  liis  cabin. 

Dinah  was  soon  by  his  side,  and  after  a  separation 
which  seemed  to  her  an  eternity,  they  were  again 
together,  in  that  same  old  room,  where  they  had  passed 
a  quarter  of  a  century.  Both  were  delighted,  enrap 
tured  !  The  children  asked  a  thousand  questions,  until 
Uncle  Tom  was  fatigued  with  their  loquacity.  His 
heart,  though,  did  not  tire.  To  him  it  was  a  banquet 
of  love  !  lie  recounted  to  them  many  a  scene,  he  told 
them  how  often  he  watched  the  lonely  hours  of  the 


518  LIFE    AT   THE   SOUTH  ;     OK 

niglit,  and  prayed  that  heaven's  light  would  deign 
to  penetrate  the  crevices  of  his  cabin  !  And  when  lie 
pictured  to  their  horror-stricken  minds,  the  scenes  of 
that  terrible  winter — his  marvelous  rescue  from  death! 
the  painter  could  have  seen  grief — such  as  nature. 
when  the  seat  of  life  is  pierced,  knows,  and  alone 
knows  how  to  depict.  But  enough.  Uncle  Tom  could 
not  go  to  bed  —  that  bed!  there  it  stood,  upon  the 
identical  boards,  lowly,  but  now  to  him  a  couch  of 
down  —  more  a  place  of  regal  repose  than  that  of  a 
slave !  thankfulness  gushed  up  from  the  deep  fountain 
of  his  soul,  and  he  closed  his  eyes  in  gratitude.  If 
Mr.  Brown  could  have  looked  in  at  the  dour,  and  heard, 
his  simple  but  expressive  prayer,  unless  infested  with 
the  spirit  of  pandemonium,  and  blinded  by  the  dark 
pall  of  bigotry  — in  charity  let  it  be  called  fanaticism  — 
he  would  have  melted  in  humility,  and  thanked  God 
also,  that  the  slave's  obstinacy  repelled  the  wiles  of 
ISTelly^s  blandishments,  laughed  at  the  specious  pano 
rama  of  pleasures  which  freedom  unrolled  to  bewilder 
his  distracted  vision,  and  conducted  the  man  —  born 
and  reared  in  servitude,  with  no  natural  sensations  but 
those  of  obedience,  and  the  inheritor  of  no  desire 
except  that  of  happiness  —  back  to  the 'land  of  his 
nativity — to  his  master,  father,  home!  That  night, 
for  the  first  time  .since  he  skulked  in  the  by-ways,  to 
mislead  the  pursuer,  Uncle  Tom  enjoyed  the  sweet 
repose  of  a  quiet  conscience;  and  arose  in  the  morn 
ing,  refreshed  by  sleep,  vigorous  and  joyful. 

He  had  forgotten  his  fancied  wrongs,  and  as  time 
rolled  on,  enjoyed  life  anew.     Satisfied  with  his  lot,  ho 


UXCLE   TOM  S    CABIN    AS    IT  IS. 


519 


shared  the  feelings  of  his  master,  as  in  days  gone  by, 
and  was  humbled  in  his  adversity  and  elated  with  his 
prosperity.  And  if  the  reader  shall  at  any  time 
chance  to  travel  the  high  road,  as  it  winds  up  the  val 
ley  of  the  Shenancloah,  above  Winchester,  he  will  find 
no  gentleman  more  hospitable  than  Mr.  Ersldne,  and 
no  slave  more  contented  and  happy  than  Uncle  Tom. 


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